


but monsters are always hungry, darling

by irishmizzy, miss_bennie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Drug Use, Escort Service, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Multiple, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 22:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 156,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3427997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishmizzy/pseuds/irishmizzy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_bennie/pseuds/miss_bennie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn Malik has nothing. </p>
<p>Louis doesn't have much other than his van, his friends Liam and Eleanor (most of the time), and a wall that keeps him at a safe distance from everyone in his life; from the moment they meet, Zayn finds himself depending on Louis's kindness, if you could even call it that. As Zayn learns what it is Louis does for money, he realizes he has a choice to make. The path it sets him down might not be the best one -- it's certainly not the smartest or safest -- but it does bring him closer to Louis. And, eventually, Liam, who wants more for all of them, not that anyone wants to hear it. The rift it causes in the trio has long-lasting effects over the years, and while there are bright spots in Zayn’s life: Liam's old friend Harry, who has his own lessons to learn about how love and relationships really work; Niall, the Irish busker from down the street who rapidly becomes a fixture in Harry's life; a bed in a flat instead of a nest of blankets in a van, things are far from easy. It'll all work out in the end, though. (At least, that's what Liam and Harry keep promising him.)</p>
<p>[Hooker AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. we made houses out of cardboard boxes

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much, first of all, to [cashewdani](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cashewdani), who came up with the original idea for this fic a lifetime ago, helped outline a fuckton of it, and then let us run wild with it. We have a couple of true heroes to thank as well! [agate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/agate) was our magnificent beta who put up with so much. And [littlecather](http://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecather) saved our lives with the britpick. Thanks to the big bang mods, too, for being so beautiful and organized this whole run.
> 
> [kataclysmics](http://kataclysmics.tumblr.com) made an awesome mix that you can check out on [tumblr](http://kataclysmics.tumblr.com/post/111930485466/but-monsters-are-always-hungry-darling-special) or [8tracks](http://8tracks.com/kataclysmics/but-monsters-are-always-hungry-darling)!
> 
> Title/chapter titles from [Snow and Dirty Rain](https://subwayphilosophy.wordpress.com/2008/06/23/its-not-because-our-hearts-are-large-theyre-not/) by Richard Siken.
> 
> If you have any questions or concerns before you read, hit us up in the comments or on tumblr, we can try to help you out: [irishmizzy](http://irishmizzy.tumblr.com) or [miss_bennie](http://miss-bennie.tumblr.com)

Louis hurries the last few meters, mindful of Eleanor’s stilettos, her tight skirt. It’s not that he’s worried they’ll be late, it’s just that he’s not sure if Liam’s working a full shift or not and he doesn’t want to risk missing him. 

“Oh, thank fuck,” he says when he catches sight of Liam working the door, their favorite bouncer Paddy behind him. El squeezes his hand before letting go, smoothing her hands over her hair, fixing the hem of her dress as they walk up.

“There’s a _queue_ ,” someone says pointedly. Louis turns just enough to narrow his eyes at her disdainfully. 

“You’re late,” Liam says. “I’m off in ten.”

“Sounds like we’ve just made it, more like.” Louis grins at El as he rocks back on his heels. He can hear the music playing all the way out here, just loud enough to draw people in. Get them interested. “Alright, then.”

He claps Liam on the shoulder before moving to open the door for Eleanor. Liam stops him with one hand on his shoulder.

“Louis.”

“We paid last time,” he says, hoping it works.

“You paid _half_ last time.”

Louis stares a bit longer. Sometimes if he holds Liam’s gaze long enough, Liam will do anything he wants. Used to be it worked every time, but Liam’s gotten worn down over the years. Or whatever the opposite of that is. Grown sturdier. Stands up for himself a bit more than he used to. He likes to claim it’s because of work but they both know it’s all Louis’s doing. 

“Oh, just pay him,” Eleanor says. 

“Fine,” Louis sighs as he reaches for his wallet, counting out enough for cover. It’s fine. He worked last night and El’s got enough in her handbag to bring in double what they spend. 

“Cheers,” Liam says, counting the notes, his face staying neutral even though it’s only enough for one person. He reaches for the door, opening it for them, sounding robotic as he says, “Enjoy your evening at Funky Buddha.”

Someone in the long queue behind them starts yelling. Louis very maturely does not turn around and flip them off. 

“Thanks, Li.” El goes up on her toes to press a kiss to Liam’s cheek, ignoring how he frowns. Louis can practically hear him thinking how _unprofessional_ it looks, as if anyone at the bloody club cares.

“Cheers, Payno.” Louis mimics her, laughing when Liam groans and shoves him the last few steps through the door, the music hitting him like a wall, all his senses tipping sideways as everything turns dark and loud.

**

He could try for another job tonight, Louis knows, maybe a blowie in the loo or something fast and dirty in the back alley. Has done before, when he’s low on cash and El’s night’s equally slow, doesn’t need someone keeping an eye out. 

It’s not that kind of night, though. Seems every time Louis turns around, El’s slipping pills into someone else’s palm, a smooth sleight of hand Louis has never been able to master. It’s why he hasn’t bothered to branch out. Do what you know, or however the saying goes.

“Tommo!” 

Louis jumps when Liam sneaks up behind him, finally finished with his shift. He turns, tucking himself under Liam’s arm, using Liam’s distraction by the half-hug to nick his drink. 

“Oi.”

Louis winks, raising the glass like a toast. He knows Liam’s annoyed for show more than anything. He drinks for free here. That plus the half-cover is why Louis and Eleanor come here instead of anywhere else. It helps that the floor manager turns a blind eye an awful lot.

“Don’t even know why I’m friends with you,” Liam grumbles as Louis drains his drink. 

“Yeah, well,” Louis presses the empty glass back into Liam’s hand, “maybe you’ll make enough at your next job to get this lasered off.” He flicks the chevron Liam’d gotten inked on his forearm last month, the one he’d got to commemorate their friendship or some shit. Like a year of shouting in clubs and sobering up in McDonald’s needed to be celebrated.

“About that,” Liam ducks his head until his mouth’s right at Louis’s ear and he can hear over the music, “I’ve got a party on Saturday, could use --”

“No, Liam.” Louis twists away from him, shaking his head. Liam’s been trying to get him to go on escorting jobs ever since he started. He doesn’t understand that he was plucked from a booth at Funky Buddha intentionally, that he fits a certain mold. The kind rich women are looking to fill. Louis is more suited for poorly lit street corners and loos. It’s not a big to do -- it is what it is, really. Louis doesn’t want to escort, anyway. He’s fine with everything the way it is. He just doesn’t know how many bloody times he’ll have to tell Liam no before it sticks.

“But --” Liam cuts himself off for once, his face going pinched. Louis follows his gaze to where El’s frowning at someone, her brow furrowed. Fucking fantastic. 

“I’ll be back in a mo.”

“Louis.” Liam grabs at the tail of Louis’s shirt but he’s not quick enough.

“It’s fine, Payno,” Louis says, trying to look reassuring while still keeping an eye on Eleanor, “get us another drink, yeah? Something good this time, nothing with gin for fuck’s sake.”

He thinks Liam shouts something else, but Louis is too busy pushing through the crowd to hear what it is.

**

“Jesus,” Liam huffs as they hurry down the street later, “gonna get me sacked one of these days, Eleanor.”

“Unlikely.” Louis stumbles when Liam shoves him, flailing out until Liam catches his wrist, pulling him back upright. 

Eleanor watches them, shaking her head fondly. Once Louis is settled again she loops her arm through Liam’s, curling in close. “Sorry, Liam. Make it up to you?”

Liam’s trying to hold firm, Louis can tell by the set of his shoulders. It won’t last, though. It never does. Liam always gets in a bit of a strop when they have to leave early because of something Eleanor or Louis has done. As if he’s never been sick in the toilets, had to have Louis send his arse home in a taxi none of them could afford. It’s always something.

“C’mon,” El bumps her hip against Liam’s, patting her handbag, “chips? On me.”

“Say no, Payno, let me have your share. It’s only fair since I never got that second drink.” 

“You? I -- but! She!” Liam sputters, his voice getting even higher as Louis and Eleanor trip over themselves laughing. 

“Guess he’s out, love.” Louis worms his way between them, slipping his arm around Eleanor’s shoulders. “Just you and me.”

“Looks like I’ll head home, then.” Eleanor smirks when Louis’s jaw drops, offended. 

“Liam!”

“You’re the one who told me to say no, Louis. I can’t help it if your plan backfired.”

“Again,” Eleanor adds, laughing at Louis’s indignant huff. They both shrug at him, what can you do.

“Fine.” Louis turns on his heel. He was heading the wrong way anyway. His bus stop’s in the opposite direction. Going to McDonald’s at this hour only means being farther from his van after. Much nearer Liam’s flat but that’s it. Louis was planning on going home alone tonight anyway.

“Louis,” El calls after him. “Don’t be a brat.”

“We were just kidding,” Liam adds, his voice much kinder than Eleanor’s. “C’mon. It’s still early and I’m sure we’re all starved.”

Louis walks a few more steps so it doesn’t seem like he’s giving in immediately. He waits until Liam says, “Tommo,” in that same tone that sounds like _please_ and then he turns around.

“Oh, alright,” he says, and watches as their faces split into grins. 

&&&

“Sorry, dear, remind me of your name again?”

Melanie has cold hands. Liam has to concentrate so he doesn’t flinch when she touches his neck, straightening his lapels. He feels like a right knob in his tuxedo, even though the tailor had insisted he looked smashing. It’d been strange, getting the details with special instructions attached, a note from the agency at the bottom that they’d front the bill if he didn’t have proper attire at home. As if people have that sort of thing laying around.

Well. Liam does now, he supposes, so. There’s that.

Melanie coughs politely and Liam startles. He smiles apologetically, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“I’m Liam, love,” he says softly, in a voice he’s learned makes women remember him. She goes pink all along her chest and he knows it’s worked. “So. We’re off to a wedding, then?”

“My ex-husband’s. He’s a pain in my arse and his new wife is twenty-three.” She rolls her eyes that way they always do for these events. Liam chuckles politely as he opens the limousine door for her. He tries to act like it’s no big deal. Like he’s someone who’s taken limos all sorts of places before. The agency stresses that he should always seem unfazed by his dates’ extravagances. Liam’s shit at it, he knows, but he’s not had any official complaints yet so he thinks it’s alright.

“How old did you say you were again?” Melanie asks as Liam slips in next to her, his arm stretched along the massive backseat, fingertips brushing her shoulders. 

“Twenty-two,” he lies. It’s startling how easy it’s become.

Melanie’s eyes brighten, as if she hadn’t requested someone twenty-two with Liam’s exact height and build. All Liam knows about the selection process is that it’s a bit like choosing something from a catalog. They’ve got his picture and his statistics on the website and anyone who wants can request him for an evening. It’s mental, he knows, but the pay’s good. Loads better than he makes working the door at Funky Buddha, and that’s before tips. For doing nothing but taking birds to parties and weddings and the like. 

He wishes he could get Louis on board. It’s so much better than what he’s doing, standing out night after night, waiting for someone to pick him up. Sometimes Liam thinks that he’d be the only one who noticed if Louis disappeared. Well, him and Eleanor.

“Twenty-two,” Melanie echoes, sliding closer in the backseat, her perfume stuffing up Liam’s nose, “isn’t that perfect.”

Liam smiles brightly at her, skimming his thumb over her bare arm like they’re a proper couple. “We’re a perfect pair.”

**

One date turns into two turns into ten and suddenly Liam’s glad he’d bought the tux like the agency suggested instead of renting it each go. His wardrobe is starting to look like a proper businessman’s, a handful of suits and shirts all hanging neatly in plastic dry cleaning bags. It’s expensive as hell but Liam does it sparingly, is careful not to spill anything when he’s out.

He’s just finished hanging everything when there’s a knock at the door. It’s strange, because no one really visits, not even the neighbors, and it’s the middle of the afternoon so they’re all likely to be at work anyway.

Liam doesn’t know why he’s so surprised when he wrenches the door open and Louis is there, arms crossed, foot tapping.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he says, breezing past Liam and straight into the flat. Loki comes dashing out of Liam’s bedroom to greet him, because Liam’s dog loves everybody, but especially Louis.

“I texted you.” He’d called too, had been considering taking a drive to where Louis keeps his van if he hadn’t turned up in the next few days. 

Louis stops scratching Loki’s belly and shrugs. “Need to put more money on it. Haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

That’s code for he hasn’t got enough, Liam knows. “You could --”

“Liam, I don’t want to fucking escort with you. Take strange women on shit dates and talk about flowers for an entire evening? Sounds like bloody hell on earth.”

It’s better than letting strange men come in your mouth in a car, Liam doesn’t say.

“It’s good money, is all,” he goes with instead. “I’m thinking of leaving the club soon.”

Louis stills. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I’d make more money if I could go out those nights -- that’s why I’ve been so busy lately, I’ve been working for the agency loads and it’s been,” he doesn’t quite know how to put it, “it’s been real good.”

“That’s ace, mate.” Louis sounds strained, like he doesn’t really mean it, but when Liam looks over, his smile’s so genuine it almost hurts to look at. “You’ll be going back before you quit, though, yeah? El and I at least deserve a chance to say goodbye to the Buddha.”

“Yeah, of course. It’s all just theoretic -- is that a word? Theoretic?” Louis shrugs and Liam continues, “I dunno, it’s not like, a done deal yet.”

“Well,” Louis takes the beer Liam’s offering him and pats Liam’s knee in thanks, “when it does, give us a heads up, yeah?”

That’s the whole thing of it, Liam thinks. The real reason he hasn’t just up and quit yet is because he doesn’t know what it’ll mean for Louis and Eleanor. He kind of hates that El deals at Funky Buddha more nights than not now, at least when Liam’s working. Early on it used to be different, just her and Louis showing up and sneaking in when Liam’s boss wasn’t paying attention. It's grown into something bigger than all of them and Liam worries that it'll come crashing down one of these days. He's honestly not sure if he wants to be there or very far away when it inevitably happens. 

“Yeah,” he says, “of course.”

“Cheers.” Louis winks. “Now, tell me, all these dates you’re going on and you’re _not_ shagging the old ladies?”

He’s a prick who loves flustering Liam, which is why Liam waits until Louis takes a drink to say, “Only when they pay extra,” and laughs as Louis chokes so spectacularly his shirt ends up wet.

**

“Paynooooo,” Louis says as they watch El climb into a taxi, “didn’t even get kicked out tonight, aren’t you proud of us?”

“So proud, Tommo,” he says, dry as can be. He hadn’t seen El dealing at all, either. Which doesn’t mean anything, really, but Liam likes to pretend. 

Louis laughs, jumping on Liam, kissing his cheek before pulling him into a headlock, making Liam slap at his knees until he lets go. He’s not terribly pissed but he feels it, gone a bit dizzy. Probably the way Louis is cutting off his air supply.

“Got more alcohol at mine,” Liam says once he’s free, both of them a bit breathless from the struggle. “If you’re up for it, I mean.”

“If,” Louis scoffs, and then he’s shoving Liam down the road toward the bus stop. 

**

It’s not until Louis nudges Liam’s ribs with his toes that Liam realizes he’s been talking to him for a bit now. He tears his gaze away from the film to find Louis waving the bottle of rum in the air.

“Give it here,” Louis gestures at Liam’s drink, which is mostly melted ice at this point, “time for a top off.”

“Louis.” Liam tries to block when Louis leans forward, reaching over him. Liam tenses, trying not to move -- he knows that shifting away from Louis will make it even more obvious, but there’s really nowhere to go, especially when Louis is being lazy, his torso practically draped across Liam’s lap, and --

Louis sits up the second he notices Liam’s sporting a semi, his eyebrows so high they’ve practically joined his fringe. Liam closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the grin on his face.

“Louis,” he says, but it’s too late, Louis is looking from Liam to the telly and back again.

“J.Lo, really?” 

“Oh, shut up.” He tries to shove Louis away, but Louis is immovable when he wants to be. 

“Have you ever fucked one of your clients in a tub? How much extra would _that_ cost?” 

It’s unfair that Liam can still see bits of the film playing in the background, just past Louis’s head. 

“Have you?” Louis shoves his cold hands under Liam’s jumper when he doesn’t respond, making him gasp and Louis laugh. “Have you?”

“What?”

“Shagged in some lonely bird’s tub?” He punctuates it with a twist of Liam’s nipple and it’s. Fuck. Liam feels like he’s spinning, annoyed and turned on and confused. Louis has somehow ended up half in his lap, his knee pressed up against Liam’s cock, and that’s. Christ. They should’ve put on _Grease_ like Louis’d been lobbying for. 

“What? No.”

“Shame.” 

It’s weirder when Louis goes still. Makes the air feel thick. Liam wants to push him away, but at some point Louis had gotten Liam’s wrists in his hands and now he’s stuck. He could throw him off, he supposes, but that’d require a lot more movement than Liam’s prepared to make in this situation. 

“Need a hand with this?” Louis sounds far away, but maybe that’s just because of all the blood rushing through Liam’s ears.

“What?” 

Louis gives him that look like he does when Liam’s being especially dim. It’s never helpful. Liam doesn’t get it until Louis palms his cock through his trousers, his fingers playing at the flies, and even then Liam’s words come out garbled, something like _yes_ and _what_ all at the same time that makes Louis chuckle as he scoots back, settling between Liam’s legs on the floor. 

“Lift,” he taps Liam’s hip and the next thing he knows, Louis is breathing warm on the head of his cock, teasing, testing Liam, and --

“Fuck, Tommo.” 

“Thought so.” Louis makes a pleased sound before going all in. Liam can’t stop thinking about the last time this happened, the two of them pissed as shit after a night out, Liam in a bit of a strop after he’d tried -- and failed -- to pull. Louis had had enough of his whinging, had blown Liam right up against the door of his flat. Held his hips tight and sucked all his brain cells right out of his body. 

They hadn’t talked about it after, even though Louis had crashed on Liam’s sofa and demanded eggs over easy as an apology for Loki waking him up before eleven. He hadn’t thought much of it, to be honest. He knows Louis ends up back at Eleanor’s fairly regularly and he’s not stupid, he knows those nights go exactly like this one.

Louis must sense he’s distracted, because he pinches Liam, his nails a sharp counterpoint to everything else. Liam’s hips buck automatically. 

“Fuck, sorry, sorry,” he gasps out when he feels his cock hit the back of Louis’s throat, “sorry, shit.”

Louis hums, something that sounds not angry at all. Liam grips the sofa cushions, trying to fight it. It’s useless, though, and his hips are moving as if they’ve got a mind of their own. Liam’s coming before he even realizes, his head tipped back and his nails digging so hard into the sofa he’s sure he’s going to rip the fabric. 

It feels like it takes years to get his breath under control, and by the time he stops staring at the ceiling Louis has got hand down his trousers, his breath coming nearly as quick as Liam’s, his mouth set in a thin, determined line.

“Wait.” Liam reaches out, meaning to help, but really only managing to upset Louis’s rhythm.

“Are you always this useless after sex?” 

“No,” Liam scowls, trying to muster up some semblance of coordination. 

“I’m just that good, then?” 

“ _Louis_.” It comes out whinier than he means it, makes Louis laugh while he’s coming, his body curled far enough forward that he could rest his head on Liam’s knee if he wanted.

Liam doesn’t know where to look, feels weird staring at Louis, a sheen of sweat on his brow, his mouth still all red and swollen. Louis crosses his eyes when he notices Liam looking, pulling a face before slapping his palm on Liam’s stomach where his shirt’s still rucked up, which, god, _gross_.

“Cheers for that,” Liam says, nose wrinkling at Louis’s come smeared across his stomach.

Louis laughs again, shifting around until he’s sprawled on the floor, looking like he’s got no intention of moving anytime soon. “My gift to you, Payno.”

Liam makes a face as he uses his shirt to wipe it off. “Can I return it?”

Louis laughs so loudly it wakes Loki.

**

“Alright, Payno?” he hears and then suddenly Liam is stumbling forward, Louis latched onto his back like a monkey. Loki goes crazy, running around his legs in circles, tangling him up in his leash and making Louis laugh hysterically. 

“We’re still on for tonight, yeah?” Louis asks as he hops off Liam’s back. 

“What?” Liam tries to untangle himself from the leash while Loki jumps at Louis’s legs. “Oh, right, yeah, what time did we say, midnight?”

“Round there, yeah. El’s excited.”

They’ve not all been out together in ages, it seems like. Liam’s seen them separately, gone clubbing with Louis a few nights and met up with Eleanor for lunch once or twice, but they haven’t had a proper night out. Liam’s excited for it, too. He’s only working a half shift at the door, just long enough to get them in, really. 

Loki barks at something across the park. Liam’s expecting a squirrel or a fat pigeon, not Eleanor and some bearded bloke, half-hidden by a tree. Oh. He tries not to sigh.

“She’s almost done,” Louis says quietly, looking in the opposite direction. Right, Liam realizes. They’re probably not meant to stare.

“Buying or selling?”

Louis makes a noncommittal sound which means he probably doesn’t know. Liam sighs.

“Can she... she won’t do it tonight, yeah?”

“Why not?” 

“Lou, it’s where I _work_.” 

“Not for long.”

“Louis.”

“Liam.” Louis slings his arm around Liam’s shoulders, kissing his neck sweetly and then biting, hard. Liam jerks away before he can leave a love bite. 

“It’s not that big a deal,” Louis says. “Relax, Payno.” 

Liam rubs the spot on his neck, watches Eleanor slip something into her bag. He just. It’s shit, is all. He’s the one getting them in tonight. That’s like. He’s half-responsible for anything that happens. Accomplished to the crime, or whatever people go to prison for. 

“You relax,” he says stupidly, making Louis laugh and press a sloppy kiss to his cheek. It doesn’t really make him feel any better.

&&&

“Cheers,” the bloke says, reaching out to touch the corner of Louis’s mouth. Louis doesn’t flinch. It was the first thing he trained himself out of, back when he started.

He pockets his money and gets out of the car without saying anything. It’s still early enough that if he hurried he could make it to Eleanor’s, maybe grab a quick shower before they head out for the night.

He’s tired, though, finds himself heading towards his van instead of her flat. He’s got a crick in his back from sleeping on Liam’s sofa again last night. Feels like what he needs more than anything is a spliff and some quiet.

“Hey, love, I don’t think I’m going to make it,” he tells Eleanor’s voicemail, the phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder so he can change into his softest joggers. He pauses to take a hit, holding the smoke in his lungs. He feels loads better already. “Tell Liam for me, will you? You know how he gets. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

He chucks the phone into the front seat when he’s finished. He doesn’t bother turning it to silent, but only because he knows El won’t call him back.

**

A full night's sleep helps. So does a day-long kip, even though Louis had woken up late and realized he didn't have enough for cover. Not even for the half Liam only makes them pay when he's at the door. 

“Liam, no, listen,” Louis runs his fingers through his quiff, trying to get it to lay right, “ _listen_ , I’ll be there in like, twenty, alright?”

He misses whatever Liam says because he has to set his phone down to change his shirt. 

“I lost track of time, is all,” he says over Liam, not bothering to explain he’d gone looking for quick work. “I’ll be right there.”

It’s easier to ring off than listen to Liam whinge about how he could’ve been dead in a ditch. Honestly, he does talk some shit some days. 

Liam’s still on it when Louis jogs up to the door of the club, late enough that Liam’s gone off his shift and is just hanging around, talking to Paddy and that one dancer he goes home with sometimes, Dani. His face goes dark when he sees Louis.

“Don’t start.” Louis holds a couple notes out to the lad working the door with Paddy. “I’m here, aren’t I? Hello, Danielle.” She rolls her eyes when Louis kisses her cheek but doesn’t say anything. Paddy looks less amused, but he never really does, at least not when Louis is around. “Patrick.”

“We’ll be going in now,” Liam all but yells, dragging Louis inside by the wrist. 

“Alright there, Payno? It was only a half hour late.” 

Liam opens his mouth like he’s going to argue and then stops, stands there looking like a prat instead. Louis pokes his finger into Liam’s open mouth, laughing at Liam’s shocked face. It’s a wonder he’s surprised by anything anymore. He’s had his cock in Louis’s mouth enough times that he shouldn’t be, but Liam’s a different sort.

“C’mon,” he throws his arm around Liam’s waist, smiling as Dani does the same from his other side, “let’s you buy us a drink, since you were so worried.”

“You should buy _me_ one, more like. For pain and suffering.”

Louis laughs, scanning the room until he finds Eleanor. He’s not much in the mood to go home alone tonight, hopes she’s up for something since Dani’s here, taking Liam off the market. 

“I wasn’t joking,” Liam says, his face doing that thing where he’s fighting a grin.

“Oh, Liam,” Louis pats his waist, finally spotting Eleanor by the bar and steering everyone in that direction, "sure you weren't."

**

It’s getting on winter, the nights coming earlier and earlier. It makes standing around under the street lamps fucking unbearable. Louis forgets how to dress warmly every year, takes weeks to remember the trick is layers. Two pairs of socks and a beanie that’s warm but still shows most of his hair. His shittiest jacket, the one he can ditch if he has to run.

The upside is he turns in earlier most days. Gets his money and gets gone before midnight, instead of the summer when the sun’s out ‘til eight o’fucking clock. It’s the only upside, but it’s a pretty good one.

“Lou.” Eleanor slips her cold hands into his, huddling against him so he’ll block some of the wind. The nights Liam’s not working the door are shit; it’s going to suck when he quits for good. Two more weeks, Louis reminds himself. Then they’ll be stuck queueing like animals. Fucking Liam. 

“Louis,” El kicks his shin for his attention, laughing when he glares at her.

“This line is shit, Eleanor.”

“You’ve said.”

He starts to protest but she shuts up him up with a look. 

“Would you stop whinging? Look at this line, I’ll be out before we know it.”

She’s right, is the thing. Makes him admit it later, when they’re flying on the pills she’d tucked away special for them, and Louis has her in his lap, can’t figure out where he ends and she begins. 

“Jesus, Eleanor,” he says, holding onto her hips for balance even though she’s the one riding him.

“Admit it,” her voice is higher when they’re like this, breathless and fucked out of their minds, “it was worth it, waiting in --”

She shuts up when Louis thumbs her clit, an expert at getting her off at this point. He’s going to have marks from where El’s nails rake down his chest but he doesn’t fucking care, not right now. Eleanor throws her head back and Louis closes his eyes against it, bets himself that he can make her come again before he does.

“What else’ve you got?” he asks after, the two of them side-by-side on her lumpy mattress. He can feel the beginnings of a headache already, knows water would help better than another pill, but El’s already leaning over the side of the bed, coming back up with a stash, and Louis. Well. There’s no point in moving _now_ , so.

**

He’d been expecting to see Liam infinitely less now that he’s left Funky Buddha for the dark side, but weirdly, nothing much changes. Well. Loads of things change, really, but Louis sees Liam just as much. Ends up back at his just as much, the two of them pissed and watching whatever’s on the telly at half one. 

“So then she points to a door, yeah, and asks how much it’d be for a little extra.” Liam’s laughing hard enough that Louis has to concentrate to understand his story.

“I hope you overcharged her,” Louis says.

“Mate, I couldn’t even get an answer out before she had her hands on my belt. I thought she was going to rip the buttons off my shirt.”

“Did she?”

“No!” Liam’s near tears now, in literal hysterics, curling towards Louis like he hasn’t got control of his body. Louis runs his fingers over the bare skin where Liam’s shirt’s ridden up; he can’t tell if Liam’s half-hard at the memory of his date from last week or something else, but pressed up together like this Louis doesn’t care about the reason. His own dick isn’t hating any of this, either.

“Liam, tell me you got paid.” Louis worries about it; has since the day Liam showed up proud as can be for getting handpicked by some agent. Liam’s too much of a tenderheart. Someday he’s going to fall for a bird with a sob story and sad eyes and get taken for all he’s worth. 

“No,” Liam crows, and Louis’s heart sinks for a moment before Liam says, “she opened the door before I could answer but it didn’t matter because there was another couple in there already!”

Louis laughs but it’s nowhere as hilarious as Liam finds it. 

“Their faces!” he says. “When we! And they!”

Louis rolls his eyes, feeling clumsy when he pats Liam’s back. “What I’m hearing, Payno, is that you _didn’t_ get laid this week.”

He lets his fingers drift lower, not all the way to Liam’s arse, but low enough that he’ll get the hint.

Liam takes a deep breath and then another, like he’s forcing himself to calm down. “No,” he says eventually, “not as such.”

The look on his face when he sits up reminds Louis so much of his own that he pauses for a second, stunned. It’s enough of a lapse that Liam sees his advantage and takes it, moving so fast Louis isn’t entirely sure how he’s ended up flat on his back on the sofa. 

“Haha!” Liam crows, all smiles as he looms over Louis. His eyelashes are clumping together, still wet with tears. It’s a weird thing to notice, but Louis can’t look away. His breath feels like it’s trapped in his chest as he waits, wondering if Liam is going to try to snog him or something equally mental. He hopes not. They haven’t yet. Won’t ever, if Louis has anything to say about it. It would be too much. Too far.

“I win,” Liam says, his fingers hooked into Louis’s waistband, a stupidly proud look on his face. “Fucking finally.”

Louis isn’t sure what he means until Liam’s tugging his pants down, palm fitting against the shape of Louis’s half-hard cock. Just the pressure is enough to make Louis squirm a bit. 

“It’s because you’re always pants after you’ve nutted,” he says, careful to keep his voice even. “Utter rubbish, really. Like a corpse.”

He’s never given Liam the chance, either, always wanks before Liam can recover. It’s easier that way. Quicker.

Smarter, too, apparently, because he’s ill-equipped to handle the way Liam licks up his cock, his eyes on Louis like he wants to make sure he’s doing alright. 

“Jesus fuck, Payno.” Louis drops his head back, staring at the ceiling instead. There’s a water spot up there. Liam thinks it looks like a starfish, even though it’s clearly the Hulk. 

Liam sucks hard at the head of his cock and Louis’s eyes squeeze shut as his hips jerk. It seems Liam’s a natural. Makes sense, what with those bloody lips of his. Louis pushes forward again, intentionally this time, wanting more. Liam makes a noise, displeased, and settles one of his hands on Louis’s hips, holding him in place.

It’s the same fucking thing Louis has done every time he’s sucked Liam off on this same fucking sofa, but something about it makes Louis feel skinless, exposed. He accidentally chances a glance down and catches Liam watching him, wide-eyed, his free hand out of sight like he’s tossing one off. 

Something in Louis twists itself into a knot. The idea of Liam holding him down, getting off on it, it’s all too much. His dick twitches, hips straining under Liam’s palm, and it’s mental how he gets nowhere. How strong Liam is. How completely laid out he’s got Louis. He might as well be completely naked, how messed up he feels over it.

Liam’s teeth graze his cock accidentally and Louis feels like there are fireworks going off inside of him. It’s too much. Too fast. Too everything. He can’t. Louis is the one who takes Liam apart piecemeal, not the other way around.

“Liam,” he grits out, glad that Liam’s got enough hair to pull properly. “ _Liam_.”

It’s enough to make Liam ease off, thank fuck. Louis keeps hold of Liam’s hair as he wraps his free hand around his cock, barely needing to wank himself before he’s coming on Liam’s stupidly unexpecting face.

“ _Louis_!” Liam yells as soon as he recovers. “You got it in my _eye_.”

He looks ridiculous, scrambling off the sofa and across the flat with his pants tucked under his still-hard cock. 

“Don’t laugh, it fucking _stings_.” He’s got his face in the kitchen sink as he yells, trying to rinse his eye out. Even from here Louis can see he’s still got a bit of spunk on his neck. He hates that it stirs something deep in his gut. “Why would you --”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re fine,” Louis says. He’s still a little unsteady when he makes his way across the room, but Liam’s too busy complaining to notice. “Shut off the water and I’ll show you how to fix it.”

“You will?”

Liam eyes Louis suspiciously. His eye’s too red for it to be truly effective. Louis bites his lip to tamp down the weird surge of pride. 

“Yeah,” Louis grabs Liam’s wrists and moves him where he wants him, “it’s called shut the fuck up and let me suck your dick.” 

When Liam comes, Louis holds fast, digs his elbows into Liam’s thighs so he can’t return the favor. He swallows with a smile, looking up through his lashes.

“Feel better?”

Liam nods dumbly. In the shit lighting, Louis can tell his eye is still red. He pats Liam’s knee comfortingly.

“See? Fixed it.”

**

People get bored in the winter. Get cabin fever, grow sick of their husbands or their wives and go looking for trouble. Louis gets busy.

Liam does too, judging by the voicemails he keeps leaving.

“Tommo, it’s me, I already talked to Eleanor but I’ve got another event tonight. Some bird’s work party. It’s on a boat! Mental, right? Anyway, I can’t make it tomorrow. Maybe next week, yeah?”

When they do meet up it’s hurried, Liam always rushing one way, Eleanor rushing the other. Louis hasn’t got anywhere to be, really, but he tells them he does, too. The van’s not going to hotbox itself. 

It’s a month gone before Louis realizes he and Liam haven’t hung out properly. At least not the way they used to. Louis misses it and he doesn’t. It is what it is, he tells himself.

It is what it is.

**

As always, winter takes its sweet time disappearing, fucking about enough that what Louis is sweating in one minute isn’t warm enough the next. There are a handful of nice days followed by the coldest spell since the depths of February. It’s all Louis can do not to catch his death. He doesn’t bother going out those nights, hopes that he can make it up once spring finally comes to stay. It’s safer to spend the nights in the van, taking El’s surplus pills and falling asleep staring at his ceiling.

When the cold finally breaks, Louis meets Liam and Eleanor in the park, the three of them passing around a poorly-concealed bottle of whatever wine Eleanor’s bought and tossing a frisbee to Loki.

“Oi, Payno,” Louis yells, feeling bold, “walked in on anyone shagging lately?”

Liam is wholly unfazed, grinning when he looks over. “No, mate, but last week -- listen to this, El, it’s mental,” he starts.

Louis closes his eyes, turning his face into the sun as he listens.

**

He’s a bit pissed -- not wholly, just pleasantly buzzed -- on his walk home. He’d stuck around longer than Liam and El, just enough to have a kip in the sunshine before heading home, but now it’s growing late, the sun starting to set, a chill settling in the air. 

He’s nearly out of the park when he spots him, a weird, protective pang flooding his chest at the sight of some dumb kid sacked out on a bench, curled around his bag. It’s nothing he doesn’t see every day -- nothing he hasn’t been himself -- but. 

The wind picks up. Louis tenses his shoulders, drawing his hands farther into the sleeves of his jumper. The kid curls in on himself like he’s doing the same thing in his sleep. His face stays sleep-slack though. It reminds Louis of Liam, that softness some people just have. Louis has never had it, but some people do.

People like that shouldn’t sleep out on park benches. Shouldn’t have dirty t-shirts with _Yes_ written on them. That’s just asking for trouble.

Louis is moving towards him before he realizes. He’s never been one for thinking before he acts.

&&&

A sharp feeling jolts Zayn awake, something like a dull pain right on the edge of his ribs, blooming out and making him squint up at whatever it is.

“Oi,” Zayn mumbles up at the bloke who’s nudging at his side again with the toe of his trainers, “fuck off.”

“You fuck off,” the bloke grins down at him; at least, Zayn thinks the closest thing he could describe the face he’s pulling would be a grin, “gonna get fucked, wearing that ‘round here.”

“What?” Zayn glances down, shivering when the breeze kicks off around them in the park. He reaches up to cover the _Yes_ on his chest, feels like he should probably grab his shit and leg it, but the bloke’s leaning down now, holding out a hand like he means to help Zayn up. 

“‘s getting dark, is all,” the bloke huffs out a noise, shrugging when Zayn bats his hand away, sitting up on his own and leaning back against the bench. “It’s your arse on the line.”

“Um,” Zayn feels weirdly grounded by the way the bloke is looking at him, wide blue eyes fixed right on his face like he’s asking Zayn a question without speaking. “Cheers, I guess.”

“Cheers,” he echoes, then snorts, “polite, that’s a virtue right there.”

“Better than kicking someone while they were sleeping,” Zayn reaches down for his rucksack, pulling it so it’s in his lap as he pushes up and back to sit on the bench proper, so he’s not looking up so much. “That what you do, then? Wander around the park at night and abuse people?”

The bloke laughs, one that sounds genuine this time, coming out loud in the air, “yeah, ‘s what I do. What’s your name?”

“Zayn,” he doesn’t know why he answers immediately, figures it’s because this kid is the first person he’s talked to proper in at least a week. “You have one?”

“What, do I have a name?” The bloke finally sits next to Zayn, leaning back and spreading out, looking loose limbed and comfortable, like he’s never gonna give it up. It makes Zayn feel nervous. 

“I’ll go,” Zayn doesn’t move, just nods his head off in the distance. He doesn’t know exactly where he’ll go, hasn’t known for a while now, so he half hopes it’ll take forever for this arsehole to give up his name, keep him occupied for even just a little longer.

“Well don’t go that far, love,” there are fingertips on Zayn’s arm then, a light touch just above his elbow. Zayn’s shocked he doesn’t wince away, not sure how he got to this moment, about to cuddle up on a bench with some twat he doesn’t know. 

Zayn doesn’t say anything, just glances down at the hand on his arm and then back up at those blue eyes again, the little bit of hair sticking out of a beanie.

“I’m Louis,” he pronounces it odd, not like Zayn’s heard, _Lou-ie_. “Never Lewis.”

“Louis,” Zayn tests it out, rolling the name around in his mouth. “Louis.”

“Zayn,” the bloke, Louis, says back, rolling his eyes, “what the fuck kind of name is that?”

Zayn shrugs. “It’s mine.” He doesn’t mean for it to sound like this fucking profound thing, like he’s some pretentious cunt. It’s not even until he says it that it feels fucked, the truth of it crawling under his skin.

“Fair enough,” Louis’s still looking him over like he’s doing some sort of appraisal. “Listen, was about to go get some food, yeah? KFC.”

“Good for you.” Zayn’s not sure if Louis means it like an invitation, hopes he can’t hear the low rumble of his stomach that Zayn can’t stop. Zayn also knows just how few quid he’s got in his pocket.

“Don’t be a twat.” Louis stands up, rubbing his hands down over his arse and looking back at Zayn. “You coming?” 

Zayn’s standing before he can really realize what he’s doing. “Alright.”

**

Louis isn’t even subtle about how he’s giving Zayn charity, giving Zayn a dark look when he fumbles for his wallet as they order.

“Fuck off,” Louis says calmly, “got a big tip and I’m feeling generous in my pity for lads sleeping in parks.”

“Oh,” Zayn doesn’t have it in himself to protest, the heavy smell of the restaurant making his mouth water. He stands to the side, watches Louis order a Bargain Bucket with extra chips, pay with a wad of crumpled up notes. 

It’s not until they’re sitting down in a cramped corner, Louis already reaching for a leg, when Zayn finds his voice. 

“Thanks,” he says quietly, Louis not even looking up. Zayn’s not even sure he heard.

“Can thank me after you tuck in, yeah?” Louis passes over a sleeve of chips, jostling the bucket so it’s more in the center of the table. “Or even not at all, ‘cause I’m good.”

Zayn nods, not speaking even though he doesn’t think Louis is looking at him. He’s pretty sure it’s the best meal he’s had in ages, probably since a month or so ago when Mum last...he doesn’t want to think about that, the thought of her and the warm kitchen coiling up in his stomach like Louis is kicking him all over again. 

“‘s good,” Louis says after a long, long time, his mouth still full, “yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods, wiping his mouth, “love it.”

“It’s helping me sober up, if I’m being honest,” Louis leans forward, and it’s then Zayn can see the way his eyes look a little less glazed than before, “could use a bit more.”

“Oh,” Zayn glances down, where Louis’s pulling a spliff out of his pocket. Zayn can already feel the smooth glide of smoke out of his mouth, wants to chase it down for real. “Yeah? I mean, yeah, cheers, yeah.”

“This is the most I’ve heard you say in hours, mate,” Louis is grinning now, “c’mon, we’ll go back t’mine, yeah?”

“Dunno,” Zayn glances down, suddenly wondering where he’s gonna end up, exactly. Knows he’s burned through nearly all he had saved just staying in shit places the past month, that he’ll just end up at the park again, where he hasn’t even been able to sleep proper for a couple days. Still a bit unsure how far this Louis bloke’s charity will extend.

“Mate,” Louis’s voice is lazy, like he couldn’t give a fuck either way, “it’s nothing special, just a place to sleep and smoke, really. Don’t expect a grand palace.”

“Well,” Zayn hedges, before Louis continues.

“Better than a park, better than waking up with your shit gone.”

“I guess, yeah,” Zayn shrugs, bites at his lip so he won’t smile or look too pleased. 

“‘sides, I never said I was offering a night’s stay,” Louis takes another bite of chicken, shrugging with a wicked gleam in his eye, “just a spliff and silence.”

“Sounds good,” Zayn says, because it does. He rubs at the _Yes_ on his chest, doesn’t meet Louis’s eyes.

**

It’s a van. A big van parked off an alley behind a group of shops. It makes Zayn feel more settled, comfortable. Like Louis won’t bullshit him on anything, wasn’t lying about where he lived.

“I know one of the owners,” Louis’d offered when they came up on it, “lets me park here.”

Zayn’d shrugged, waiting for Louis to slide the door open, crawling into the back where Louis’s got a whole set up, Zayn settling carefully next to a stack of blankets that seem carefully folded. It’s warm compared to outside, the last cool snap of spring, and the sweet-bitter smell of weed and tobacco hangs over it all. Zayn takes a deep breath, smiling at Louis when he looks over at him, sliding the door closed again before handing Zayn the spliff and a lighter.

“Got some more, but,” Louis’s eyes track Zayn as he lights up, it seeming brighter now that the door is closed, most of the windows blocked up, “we can start here.”

“Cheers, yeah.” Zayn takes a deep hit, counts until he can feel the smoke curl out all the way through his lungs before exhaling, does another before Louis chuckles, low, reaching out for Zayn to pass over.

“Look like you needed that, mate.” Louis tips his head back when he exhales, the whole line of his neck moving when he swallows. When he comes back to meet Zayn’s eyes, his beanie slips off, him groaning and groping at his mussed up hair one handed. “Oh, well, that’s shot.”

“Here,” Zayn laughs, takes the spliff back while Louis rights himself. “Don’t much mind if your hair’s shit, Louis.”

“How generous,” Louis drawls, his voice already a notch slower as his eyes track the smoke drawing hazy shapes between them, making the air grainy and fuzzed out. “Your hair’s shit, too.”

“Haven’t--” Zayn starts, reaching up to feel how he needs a shampoo, knows it’s been better, “I didn’t mean it like that, don’t be a twat.” He freezes after he says it, that he’s speaking to this bloke who’s sharing his weed and his van and food. It’s a long moment before Louis answers, speaking while he exhales.

“You’re the twat who started it,” Louis shrugs, grinning, “oi, finish this off, yeah? I’ll get the other.” He hands over the roach, Zayn pinching it carefully between his fingers as he finishes it and drops it in his empty cup, Louis leaning over and coming up with a small wooden box, rattling like it’s got more than just weed in it. Zayn looks away.

“Like this place,” Zayn licks at his singed fingertips, glancing over to see Louis’s closed the box up, rolling a new spliff with ease, “‘s like your own Mystery Machine, yeah?” 

Louis stops what he’s doing, looks up with Zayn with a smile, a new one that Zayn hasn’t seen yet. “No fucking way, that’s what I call it!”

“Yeah?” Zayn leans back, feels like he’s melting into their conversation, “‘s even green, like, not the right green, but that’s splitting hairs mate. Smoking it out, yeah? Like-”

“Shaggy and Scoobs,” Louis laughs, and it’s loud. He finishes up his roll, tongue flicking out against the paper, hands it to Zayn before lighting it up. “Got this mate, he’s -- well, he doesn’t get it, thinks I’m being literal or summat. Not looking to solve crime.”

“Sounds like a fun bloke,” Zayn takes a long hit before passing it back.

“He just,” Louis’s brow furrows up, “guess he’s not van people, I guess. Thinks everyone belongs in a proper place, is all. Don’t wanna talk about him.”

“Okay,” Zayn shrugs. He hadn’t brought this mate up, doesn’t much care either way. “You said silence, anyway.”

“Ah.” Louis’s face lights up when he sparks the lighter again to revive the spliff. “That I did.”

They sit there in the quiet. Not for much longer, not until Louis’s rolled a third, straight joint this time, Zayn feeling good --

“How old are you?” The way Louis asks, it’s like he could do without an answer. Like he’s just filling space.

“Nineteen.” Zayn shrugs. “You, then?”

“Twenty.” Louis smiles, slow. “Even though you’re using up my weed, can’t say I regret saving your sorry arse yet, Zayn.”

Zayn prickles up, like maybe Louis’s gonna start asking more questions, make Zayn feel like he should go even though it’s the last thing he’s about to do, but he just asks him what his favorite Scooby Doo episode is instead. 

It’s hours later, Zayn already tucked up under a worn blanket and half passed out, when he realizes Louis never asked him to stay the night. He closes his eyes anyway, Louis still talking slow somewhere in the dark.

**

Zayn wakes up to a slight chill and Louis splayed out warm beside him; it’s nice, so nice Zayn doesn’t think twice before rolling back over and closing his eyes, Louis letting out a string of curses before saying, “fuck off, not up yet.” Zayn smiles.

And he’s not sure how, but that turns into Louis taking him round to a friend’s run down apartment for a quick shower, “she’ll kill me later but just don’t use too much of her shampoo, yeah?” and walking around the city all day, sometimes talking, sometimes not. Leaves Zayn alone in the van that night to go off to work, like without saying Zayn’s already set to stay. 

He keeps waking up there. It’s been days. It’s nice.

Zayn’s done thinking that Louis expects anything from him, but Zayn knows enough that Louis’s not flush, so he’s been trying. It’s hard, though, because wherever Louis works it’s all night shifts, gone for ages sometimes, and during the day it’s so easy to just fuck around, walking in the air that’s finally warming up, having a laugh. Zayn’ll see a shop with a _Help Wanted_ sign and make like he’s gonna go in, see to it, but then Louis will pull him back. 

“Not there,” he’ll say, “looks shit.”

So Zayn nods, every time. Follows Louis around. He likes Louis. Likes how he doesn’t ask too many questions and how he’s funny; how he doesn’t give a fuck. He’ll say something that makes Zayn laugh, looks so pleased every time that it just makes Zayn laugh harder. He’s not mean, never to Zayn, but he’s got a hard edge to him that Zayn feels an odd fascination with, sometimes stepping back just to watch him get smart with a shop owner or some bloke on the tube Louis knows from somewhere. Zayn would step in if Louis ever needed, but he seems to handle himself fine, like he always knows what to say before thinking it over first, choosing the right words.

Louis always gives Zayn the first hit, brings back a bag of greasy food after work for them to split, waving away whatever money Zayn offers in return. 

Zayn’s been there a full week when he sneaks it in, waits for Louis to leave one night before pulling the small wooden box out. By now, Zayn’s seen inside, the mess of pills and weed and pipes, the chain of a necklace Zayn’s never looked at too close. He peels back the edge of the false bottom, pulls out the wad of cash Louis keeps there. He doesn’t count it, just slides twenty quid in the middle before putting it back carefully. 

If Louis notices later, the sounds of him digging around in the box while Zayn closes his eyes, he doesn’t say anything. 

&&&

Liam’s phone buzzes in his pocket when he’s still with his client, pulling his trousers back on while she spreads out in the bed of the posh hotel suite she’d booked for the night, lightly snoring. He can hear it, finishing getting dressed before he slips his hand in his pocket, closing his fist around the phone. Making his way over to the edge of the bed, he reaches down to lightly touch her shoulder, half hoping she won’t wake. It makes it easier, thinks maybe it’s helpful for them when they don’t have to watch him leave.

She doesn’t stir.

“Had a lovely evening,” Liam pauses, glancing at the invitation still on the bedside to make sure of her name. It’s been almost a year now, and it’s the one part he’s still trying to be less rubbish at. “Thank you, Sarah.”

Once he’s in the elevator, he looks at his phone. It’s been nearly a month gone since he heard from Louis, and even though he knows that’s not too odd, it bothers him enough that he still tries it every few days or so, even though he knows that Louis won’t respond until Louis’s ready to. 

He knew he was okay, anyway, had stopped by El’s hoping to see Louis, found her there instead. It was nice, El had been sympathetic and sober, made them a fry up while she told Liam that Louis was okay, really he was. Liam knew she was lying when she’d said she would tell Louis to call him, that they both knew even if she did that’d just make Louis be off on his brood or whatever for even longer. Still though, was nice. He’d told El so, kissed her cheek when she’d grinned up at him. 

But now it’s all alright, because Louis is here, texting him a _Paynooo, call me when you have a free mo between shagging old birds x_ Like it hasn’t been ages, like he usually does.

“Lad!” Louis sounds in good spirits when Liam’s out of the tube, nearly back to his, wishes he could take his own car to some of these gigs, even though it’s not exactly up to snuff.

“Tommo,” Liam knows he shouldn’t, but, “been awhile. Proper month, nearly.”

“Oh,” Louis huffs out a noise like things could go either way, and Liam steels himself against it, waits it out while he does the maths in his head, from when he’d asked his neighbor to take Loki out. He hopes he won’t have to clean up a mess when he gets in. 

“Just glad to hear from you, mate,” Liam says after what he hopes is long enough. “Is all.”

“No need to get sentimental,” Louis says immediately. “Anyway, was hoping you’d be up for it tonight, yeah?”

“Up for what?” With Louis, that can mean a lot of things. Liam scoops Loki up when he runs up the second he’s inside, clipping the leash on him immediately. He knows that the more Loki squirms the more of his hair will end up on Liam’s suit, one of his best ones, but he feels bad for leaving him in for so bloody long, the do going over and the lady, Liam’s already forgotten her name, taking ages to come. But Liam’s not going to make someone pay for an unsatisfying evening. 

“The Buddha!” Louis laughs, and he sounds happy. Liam can feel himself grinning in spite of himself. 

“Yeah, mate?” Loki’s going fast like he does sometimes when he’s been cooped up, like his legs can’t propel him enough. “Haven’t been keeping up, there something going on?”

“Liam,” Louis sounds like he’s almost chiding him, “anywhere we go, there’s something going on. Don’t be so down on yourself, mate.”

Liam laughs. “Alright. Could go. Need to sleep first, though.”

“Tell me, Liam, do you get paid overtime for shagging?”

“Erm, only if they tip, like?” Liam jogs a bit to keep up with Loki, who’s spotted an overflowing bin at the corner. “It’s not in the contract, though.”

“I wasn’t being --” Louis laughs again, and Liam grins to himself, “alright lad, let’s say 9? That should give you more than enough time to rest up your spent cock.”

“Cheers,” Liam knows he should ring off, “thanks for calling, Tommo.”

“Well,” Louis is quiet for so long Liam has to pull his phone away from his ear, glancing at the screen to make sure they’re still connected, his voice picking up before Liam’s got it settled again. “You wouldn’t come if I didn’t call, yeah?”

“Sure,” Liam agrees, pulling Loki away from some questionable looking rubbish, “makes sense.”

“Anyway,” Louis gets that tone like he gets when he’s about to escape off somewhere, “see you then.”

**

Liam puts on his favorite shirt that night, one that has flowers all over it, this expensive material that feels great against his skin. He doesn’t wear it out often enough, one of those that’s only really dressed up enough for a certain type of do. He even cuffs it up nice, this way that one of his, well, he supposes he’s a good friend by now, been at enough events together at this point, had shown him once -- Harry, had manhandled him in the loo and rolled up his sleeves quick as could be before grinning and going back out to the garden party. Liam hadn’t thought much about making new friends at this gig, so it’s quite nice, really. 

Not that he’s thinking about that now, grinning hard when he sees Paddy at the door, some new bloke next to him doing Liam’s old job. It’s odd, in a way, like he’s looking at his old life from the outside in, the queue already messy with people and the new guy looking harried. Liam can’t say he misses that bit. Especially when --

“Payno!” Louis is clapping his hand on Liam’s shoulder then, coming up quick behind with Eleanor in tow, her grinning up at Liam and tugging at the end of her hair. “You came.” Louis’s face is pushed into Liam’s neck, and he can barely hear him over the crowd.

“I told you I would,” Liam points out, Louis pulling back and eyeing him, looking like he’s about to take the piss. Liam can’t tell sometimes. 

“You are quite dependable, Liam.” Louis’s voice comes out light, without the sharp edge Liam’s used to. It’s gone so quick that he could have been imagining it though, already propelling them up toward the entrance past the line, his knuckles digging into the small of Liam’s back. 

“Liam,” Paddy greets him warmly, Liam deciding not to notice how his grin falters when he sees Louis and El behind him, recovering quick, “how’ve you been, lad? New job treating you well?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Liam hadn’t really explained every bit of his new line of work to Paddy when he left, but he knows that Paddy probably heard from Dani exactly what he’s doing, even though he hasn’t seen Dani for ages, since she decided she wasn’t much into him, anymore. “It’s pretty ace, Paddy. I’m like, safe and stuff.”

Paddy looks at him for a moment before nodding and reaching up to squeeze at Liam’s shoulder. “Good to hear.” 

“Not to interrupt, but,” Louis hooks his chin over Liam’s shoulder, throwing his weight into Louis’s back, “can we get a move on? Mind if El and I go on in?”

“Oh!” Liam glances back, noticing how El’s smile looks tighter than before and she’s got her hands shoved in her pockets, how her legs are bare and her skirt is too short. It’s bloody freezing, she must be dying. “Paddy, d’you mind?”

“Well,” Paddy’s got a tight look on his face, the noise of the queue behind them kicking up when another of the bouncers Liam didn’t know as well, Preston, comes out to help Paddy. “It’s going to be --”

“I’ll cover their entry,” Liam blurts out, Louis laughing with what sounds like surprise next to him. Liam’s just glad that Louis called, is all, glad that he and El are okay and both seem to be in good spirits, not as messy as it was getting before. Paddy nods.

“Good lad,” Louis reaches up to pat at Liam’s head when he passes toward the door, El popping up to brush her lips along the curve of Liam’s jaw. 

“See you in there,” Liam grins, raising his hand in a small wave that sets Louis’s eyes rolling, but Liam doesn’t much care. 

“Didn’t know you were still mates with them,” Paddy says evenly when Liam turns back, “thought maybe you were making a new start, all over.”

“Haven’t seen Louis proper in a month,” Liam shrugs, knows that Paddy never liked Louis and his smart mouth, had kicked Louis out for sucking off blokes in the toilets more than once. “He’s a good mate to me.”

Paddy snorts. “Is he now?”

“He, well,” Liam frowns, feeling suddenly out of sorts. The thing is, he doesn’t much like when people point out certain things, thinks that maybe they don’t really understand like Liam does. “He _tries_ to be a good mate to me,” Liam finally settles on, sighing until Paddy laughs.

“Sorry Liam,” Paddy laughs again. “Just looking out for you, not that you need it.”

“I try not to need it, to be honest with you,” Liam grins, the tip of his nose feeling like it’s gone cold, wonders if Louis and El would have thought to get him a drink already, “dunno how well I’m doing.”

“I think you’re doing alright.” Paddy glances over Liam’s head, and Liam follows his eyeline to where the queue’s gone even longer. “Listen, maybe we can catch up later? Don’t wanna let this get out of hand.”

“No, no,” Liam digs around in his pockets, pulls out his wallet, “I’ll go in, we’ll catch up later. What is it tonight?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Paddy waves his hand, giving Liam a stern look until he puts it away, “we’ll talk, yeah?”

“Cheers,” Liam grins, nodding at his new counterpart as he makes his way in. 

It’s loud, the bass thrumming through the soles of his feet while he gets his bearings, his eyes adjusting to the crowd and the lights, feeling like it’s really going to be a good night. He spots Louis out by one of the near bars, nudging through the bustle of people until he’s right beside him, can talk to him without having to yell much.

“Oi!” Louis turns when Liam lays a hand on his shoulder, arm up like he’s bracing for a hit, and Liam automatically tightens his grip, taking in how glassy Louis’s eyes look when he finally meets Liam’s gaze, recognizing him. 

“Jesus, Lou,” Liam cups Louis’s chin, turning his head about, “what’re you on?”

“Whatever,” Louis grins, “El had a surplus.” Louis glances back over his shoulder then, at the loo near the corner where Liam knows El prefers for her bigger nights.

“El had a --” Liam’s stomach sinks, suddenly realizing. “Louis.”

“You were supposed to talk to Paddy for longer, mate,” Louis cranes his neck around, looking back where Liam had come in. “Why don’t you go, tell him some good tales of birds who’ve used your services, yeah? That one you told me about, the--”

“Louis, I--” Liam is embarrassed by how his eyes feel hot, blinking hard. “You said we were all gonna go out.”

“This look like in to you?” Louis laughs at his own joke, this edge to it that makes Liam want to punch him, square in his grinning mouth. 

“You just wanted me to talk to--” Liam wishes he could finish a bloody sentence, feeling stupid and ashamed. He should have known. He always should know. 

“Mate,” Louis is just repeating his name now, over and over, Liam feeling shellshocked, “can you post near the door? Think I should have waited to take the second one, fuck.”

“What?” Liam looks down, at how Louis looks well and truly fucked, eyes bright. He considers. He couldn’t do it, he knows, just leave now, never look back. What if something happens. El had looked so small earlier, cold and thin in her dress. 

“Alright,” he mutters, Louis grinning, “go fuck off, I’ll tend to El.”

“Paynoooooo,” Louis latches onto Liam’s back when he makes his way toward the toilets, hoping that El’s just about done, “you’re the best. You’re perfect. Perfect Liam.”

“Go,” Liam urges, watches Louis push his way into the crowd. His eyes hurt.

**

Liam lights another cigarette, feeling angry and far too sober to deal with this. He’s been upset with Louis before, sure, many times over the years, but never like this. Louis knows how much Liam hates it, all the dealing. He’s never said it aloud, but he thinks that Louis understands how much it makes him feel like shit to think that he’s being used for something. If Louis had asked, he wouldn’t have said yes, but. He might have said maybe. 

El’s next to him, sat at the kerb with her own cigarette, eyes big when she looks over at Liam. They’ve been silent for ages, it feels like, Liam asking her to leave with him when she was finished. He’d exploded on the street then, wiping at his eyes until El’d offered up a tissue, rubbing at his back before lighting him a cig. 

“I thought he told you,” she says finally, and Liam laughs.

“Sure, El.” 

“I did,” she stands, her legs a little unsteady even though Liam knows she didn’t take anything tonight. He feels bad then, knows it can’t be easy for her to be in the middle like this. “It’s not forever, Li, y’know?”

“What,” Liam drops the butt of his cigarette on the ground, grinding the toe of his boot into the pavement, “dealing out the toilets? Louis renting himself out?”

“I’m going to go back to uni,” El shrugs, “and don’t think you can get very far with the rent boy business, Liam.”

“It’s different.”

“Sure,” she shrugs. “Listen, are we going to wait forever for him, or are you gonna see me home? He’ll find his way, yeah?”

“Dunno about that,” Liam can hear how much like a stroppy child he sounds. “El, I--”

“There they are, the people of the hour!” Louis is less fucked than he was, at least. “We all set?”

“Louis--” El starts, at the same time Liam stands.

“What the fuck, Louis?” Liam holds out his arms, hates how Louis looks amused. “You were just, what, using me?”

“El was going to be done quick, we just--” Louis sounds annoyed, “listen, if you’re here for a lecture, I’m not for it, in fact, I’ve really got to get back, so.”

“For what?” Liam asks, met with absolute silence. El clears her throat.

“We’ve all got lives, Payno,” Louis crosses his arms, “c’mon, we’ll meet in the morning or summat, yeah? I’ll call you.”

“You know what?” Liam starts backing away, focusing on how he should probably get home, check on Loki, and not how he wants to have a big old sob right now or choke Louis out or...he doesn’t know. “Don’t.”

“Don’t call you?” Louis looks well confused, and it hurts as much as it feels good. El is crying now, these soft sobs that are hard to ignore, Liam glad it’s taking up so much of his concentration not to reach out for her.

“Yeah, I’ll call you, or--” Liam shrugs, “I won’t, I dunno. I just can’t right now.”

“Payno!” Louis calls when Liam starts to walk away, Liam counting to ten slowly so he won’t turn back. “Payno!!”

&&&

By the time he gets back to the van the pills have worn off almost entirely and Louis can feel how dark his mood is, the start of a massive headache throbbing between his eyes. Fucking Liam. He takes shit so personal, sometimes, like Louis has to be on his best bloody behavior at every minute or else he’ll get that look like a kicked puppy dog. 

Louis knows that the odds of Liam calling him or just showing up at the van within a week, tops, are pretty high. He’s not worried, even if Liam did walk away without looking back, even when Louis had stopped calling him Payno and said Liam instead, proper like he meant it. That was new, but what the fuck. Liam wouldn’t have come if he’d said the truth, that he needed him to distract Paddy so El could get rid of the pills she was nervous to be keeping at her place. 

That, to be honest, Louis didn’t much care either way for hanging out after, not when he’d mentioned to Zayn he’d be back early tonight. It’s -- whatever. He doesn’t want to think about how Zayn’s eyes had brightened up when he’d said it, how he feels bad leaving him alone at night.

It’s been weeks. Louis hasn’t introduced Zayn to anyone yet, still sure that at any moment he’ll either get sick of having a stowaway or Zayn will realize he’s hanging out with some bloke in a crap van and fuck off. Neither’s happened yet, and Louis’s not sure what to make of it.

“Louis,” Zayn’s half asleep when Louis slides open the door just enough to crawl inside, climbing past the bench seat in the middle to get to the back, where Zayn’s laid out. He’s wearing the hoodie Louis’d lent him a couple of days back, the hood up and his glasses on. “What’s happenin’?” The way he says it, it comes out slurred, like _vas happenin’_. 

“Soz,” Louis’s not used to apologizing, hates it, but Zayn isn’t Liam so fuck it all anyway, “thought I’d be back earlier.”

“Wasn’t keeping track,” Zayn shrugs, “you alright? You look….” He trails off, assessing with his eyes traveling over Louis’s face. 

Louis can’t keep staying still, feeling odd under Zayn’s gaze. “What, like shit?”

“Just,” Zayn frowns, “pinched.”

“Pinched?” Louis laughs, reaching out and grabbing Zayn’s thigh between his fingers, “like that?”

“Fuck off,” Zayn squirms away, laughing, and Louis feels a touch better in spite of himself, “it’s your brows, mate, they’re all screwed up, like this.” He makes a face, his brow furrowing, and Louis moves so he’s more on his side, able to face Zayn without cricking his neck.

“Just a headache, I s’pose.” Louis doesn’t want to talk about it, but, “had a row with a mate tonight.”

“Sorry.” Zayn’s quiet for a moment, and if there’s one thing Louis find comforting about Zayn more than anything else, it’s that he doesn’t ask any fucking questions. They’re not crying over their sad lives all the time. 

“Can smoke if you want,” Zayn says into the quiet, burrowing deeper into his hoodie, “I’m knackered, though. Went out a bit, tried to find some work.”

“Why’d you go and do that?” Louis doesn’t feel like smoking out tonight, but he reaches for his stash anyway, thinks he might have some sleeping pills that’ll do him fine. Zayn’s been trying to weasel out of chilling during the day, find some crap job he’ll end up hating. 

Louis only hates what he does sometimes, knows that Liam thinks he’s only doing it because he’s crying for help or some absolute shit. But Louis doesn’t answer to anyone, knows what he’s doing and he’s good at it, at taking people apart. So really, fuck Liam. 

“Can’t keep on,” Zayn’s voice sounds far away, “I’ll try in the morning.”

“Sure,” Louis finds the pill he’s looking for, swallowing it dry. His mouth tastes awful. He hopes El will have forgiven him enough in the morning for a shower. Maybe he’ll even introduce her to Zayn. Eventually. 

**

“Didn’t know you were picking up strays, love,” El says it while Zayn is still in the loo, rinsing out his hair after losing a bet. It still pricks up Louis’s neck, makes him look at her sharper than he usually does. She just stares at him, though, blinking slow. 

It’d be easier, sometimes, if he could make El crumble like he used to make Liam. 

“Yeah,” he says, reaching for another handful of crisps, “need to replace my old mates, they’re crap.” He means it as a dig at El but he realizes too late how it comes out, how even though it’s a week gone it sounds like he’s moaning on after Liam, when it’s the opposite. Liam acted a shit, should be used to how Louis operates by now. If he can’t, then that’s that. 

El sighs, “he hasn’t called me either.”

“Please, I was talking about you,” Louis swallows, the jagged edge of a crisp catching odd on his throat so he knows he’s making a face, “anyway, ‘s not a stray, I saved his life.”

“Sure you did.” El laughs then, holding her hair back when she leans forward to take another hit. 

“You’ve seen him, right? Someone that fit sleeping alone on a bench? Fucking asking for it.”

“Hmmm,” El hums, exhaling in his direction, “how fit do you think he is, Lou?”

“Oh fuck off,” Louis reaches for the bowl, decides he’s not gonna shotgun her like he knows El loves. See how much she fucking likes that.

“Doesn’t talk much.” El’s watching him, “real quiet.”

“Fuck’s sake, give him time,” Louis pinches at the bridge of his nose. To be entirely honest, he’d felt a swell of...pride...something real fucked, when Zayn had gone from having a laugh with him on the street to being quiet as can be, awkward, the second they walked through El’s door. Kept looking at Louis before he said anything. Felt a little bit like a high, almost, even before El’d packed the bowl.

“Sure, sure,” El shrugs, standing to get the kettle when it goes off. “D’you know how he takes it?”

“Yeah, he --” Louis stops himself, realizing, “actually, I’ve no idea. Guess we’ll ask him.”

“Sounds good.”

Zayn shuffles out a couple of minutes later, still rubbing at his head with a towel. Louis looks up, and it’s -- well, it shouldn’t look good, a bleached streak right in the front of Zayn’s dark hair, but it does, Louis shifting against the curl of arousal he feels when Zayn’s eyes meet his.

“I like it,” Zayn says quietly, glancing over at El like he’s holding himself extra careful, “you did good, El.”

“Yeah,” El walks over and reaches up to thread her fingers into Zayn’s damp hair, like she’s teasing it up into a quiff. Louis curls his hand into a fist, bouncing it on his knee. “It suits you.”

“Think you look like a twat,” Louis hears himself say, voice coming out loud, “like a skunk twat.”

“ _Louis_ ,” El narrows her eyes at him, and Zayn doesn’t say anything. Louis focuses on El’s exasperated face.

“Thanks,” Zayn says, finally, “Eleanor, it’s nice of you to say.”

“C’mon,” El turns them both, Louis feeling like a tit as they walk out of the room, “I’ll style it for you.”

Later, when they’re stumbling out onto the street, both probably too fucked to be walking the streets, Zayn tugs on Louis’s elbow, Louis feeling like he’s moving in a fog. 

“Does it really look that bad?” Zayn asks, his hand reaching up to his quiff, where El’d done it up in a curl. “If El’s taking the piss, I’d rather someone told me, yeah?”

“It’s,” Louis reaches over, slinging his arm around Zayn’s waist and leaning into him, “it’s not so bad, after all.”

Zayn makes a soft noise, smiling at Louis. “Then don’t be such a cunt, yeah?”

**

Louis’s only been back for ten minutes when Zayn asks him, still damp from the shower he’d snagged at El’s after. He’s good for a few nights now, he thinks, had gone all out because he’d been slacking off lately, the thought of fucking about with Zayn much more appealing. 

Which, “what’s that, Z?”

“How come this duvet’s got no duvet in it?” Zayn’s holding it up, the cover Louis’d nicked from either El or Liam, he can’t remember which, ages ago - made for a better cover on those shit nights that aren’t quite cool or warm. 

“How come you’re so curious?” Louis shoots back, smiling when Zayn laughs. “Trust me, mate, you’ll be glad for it in a couple weeks when it warms up at night for good.”

Zayn grins, looking down. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, fuckface,” Louis laughs, because he’s not sure what else to do. “It’s shit, you wake up freezing, then you’re sweating your bollocks off.”

“Well,” Zayn’s spreading it out across this lap now, fingers catching up on the buttons, “think we could be, maybe, glad for it now?”

Louis pauses. “Tell me more.”

Zayn’s brilliant, Louis decides, after he’s spread out the cover all across the back, holding it open for Louis and then himself to crawl inside, taking time to do up all the buttons but one. It’s not too warm, the shit pattern of the fabric casting off shadows on Zayn’s face while he looks down, packs the bowl tight with his thumb. 

“This is,” Louis pauses when Zayn hands him the lighter, taking a deep hit, “the best idea you’ve ever had, Zayn.” He exhales, the air around them going hazy with it. 

Zayn smiles, taking the bowl. They pass it back and forth a few times, Louis feeling like his high is coming over him real slow, like syrup on the cakes he used to love as a kid, before he’d fucked off to make his own rules. It’s quiet when Zayn speaks.

“My sister,” he says, slow, like the smallest move Louis makes could startle him, “used to be shit at putting the duvet in. And like, I’d always have to crawl in, like, have her hand it to me, push it to the corners. Crawl back out real careful.”

“Huh,” Louis exhales, didn’t even know Zayn had a sister, didn’t even know Zayn had an anything.

“It’s how I thought of it,” Zayn’s eyes flick up to Louis’s, and they look dark, “to do this.”

Louis knows enough to keep his bloody mouth shut, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees while he watches Zayn lean back and repack. 

“One time,” Zayn chuckles, low, eyes down again, “I showed Pez, she laughed so hard she got the hiccups. Said I looked a right twat.”

“Think we look like a couple of twats now, then?” Louis pokes his finger at the rip in Zayn’s jeans, scratching at his skin a bit. “Eh?”

“Always,” Zayn pauses for a second, flicks the lighter a few times. “Well, you do, at least.”

“Fuck off,” Louis’s starting to get that lazy bonelessness, the sweet hot air inside the duvet making his eyes blink slow. “Who’s Pez?” He doesn’t mean to ask, not really, but Zayn started it, can’t expect Louis to run on context when he’s talking cryptic shit about people Louis doesn’t know.

“Was my bird,” Zayn shrugs, a smile pulling at the edge of his lips, teeth glinting in the dark, “for a while.”

“Huh,” Louis’s not sure what to say, hates that feeling, like he’s crawling out of his skin with it. He can’t decide if he wants to know more or less, a part of him thinking that Zayn just sprung up a few weeks ago to entertain him, like he’s not got a history at all. 

“Louis,” Zayn nods, holding up the bowl, “c’mere, yeah?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis leans forward, knows that Zayn means to shotgun, something catching in the back of his mind that this is the first time they’ve done it. Louis’s used to being drawn to people, even some customers, sometimes, if they’ve got a flash in their eyes Louis likes. People like El, who’ve known him forever. Even fucking Liam, who didn’t get a lot of things, but he at least always got that bit. That sex is easy. Zayn’s easy in a way that Louis can’t grab onto. 

“Here,” Zayn leans back, turning as he takes a long hit, curling himself forward at the same time his fingers find the back of Louis’s neck. He draws Louis in, Louis going pliant the second Zayn exhales. Their lips aren’t even touching, which is shit for how Louis’s gone dumb with it, could go for a snog even though he rarely does, used to using his mouth for other things. 

Louis holds the smoke in his lungs for as long as he can, chest burning with it and eyes never meeting Zayn’s. He doesn’t exhale, not until Zayn’s forehead hits his. 

“Good shit,” Zayn murmurs, before he starts laughing. 

“Good,” Louis echoes, leaning back on his elbows to take in the shadows playing on Zayn’s face when he lights up again. 

“Was thinking,” Zayn says, smoke curling out of his mouth, “maybe you could help me, you know. Get a job.”

“Dunno how much help I’d be,” Louis snorts, “got into a fight with that shop owner while you were applying, yeah?”

Zayn smiles, just like he did when it had happened. “No, I mean. If your place is…”

Louis stretches, considering. He’s been pushing things lately, making comments like maybe he wants Zayn to ask, now that he knows Zayn’s around for however long it’ll last. Didn’t think it would come to this though, Zayn’s slow smile under the duvet, face that’ll make so much. He’ll barely have to do a thing. Wonders if he has done anything, with a bloke.

“If not,” Zayn’s voice gets that quiet tone, “it’s nothing, but. Thought I’d ask. What d’you do, anyway?”

“Well,” Louis sits up, his hair going staticky when it rubs against the top of the duvet, “whatever they pay me for.”

&&&

Zayn has the hardest time falling asleep. He feels like a fucking idiot. It’d taken him so fucking long to understand what Louis meant, _whatever they pay me for_ , and even then only then after Louis had mimed a blowjob. 

The money’s good, though, according to Louis. Or, not good but, enough. Better than none at all, which is what Zayn’s got right now.

He thinks of everything he’s got left, the emergency fund he stashed in a rip in the lining of his rucksack. When that’s gone, which it will be soon, what then. He’s been kicked out of more shops with help wanted signs than he can count at this point. He’s been mooching off Louis long enough.

Maybe, he thinks, Louis snoring softly next to him. If Louis can get by on it, then maybe he can, too.

**

"So what…” Zayn screws up his courage, looking at the chips he’s holding instead of Louis, “I know you said anything, but like. _Anything_?”

Louis's laugh sounds hollow. "Just about." 

Zayn wants to ask why. How. Any of the million questions floating through his head about how Louis ended up here. Louis has never asked him questions, though, so it doesn't seem fair. 

"I'd be up for anything," he says instead. 

"Anything?" Louis raises his eyebrow, challenging. It's the same look he gets before he dares Zayn to do something. It’s a look that makes Zayn feel bolder than he actually is.

"Just about."

**

“Just take me with you,” he says, and Louis sighs, aggrieved. 

It's early, light streaming through the windows as Louis packs a bowl. 

“You can’t just,” Louis starts, and then stops himself, his face closing off as he sighs again. His whole body’s gone rigid and for the first time in ages, Zayn feels worried around Louis. It’s the only reason he doesn’t press. 

They’re well baked before Louis says, “Get in and get out, that's my rule.” 

“And get off,” Zayn mutters, making Louis laugh. 

“Yeah, well. Obviously them at least. But just like, no chit chat. Li -- I know a bloke, he does the whole chatting thing, makes nice, goes on dates. That's different.” 

“Sounds horrid.” 

“Exactly. I'm not looking for love, just twenty quid. I'll toss you off and you can be on your way.”

“Is that all it is? Tossing blokes off in an alley?” It doesn’t seem too horrible to Zayn. Weird, yeah, but like. Doable.

“Sometimes. Or their cars. A loo. Anywhere they like.”

“Anything they'll pay for.” 

Louis taps Zayn’s nose. “Exactly.” 

“So you just like…” Zayn cups his dick through his jeans, imagines wanking another lad in an alley. Wonders if it's always lads. 

“Not always,” Louis says. Zayn’s higher than he thought, if Louis is answering questions Zayn hadn’t realized he was asking. “Sometimes a girl wants a quick fuck, too.” 

Zayn opens his eyes, finds Louis watching him. “But usually.”

Louis tracks the movement of Zayn’s hand along his dick. It makes his skin feel hot. “Yeah, usually.”

Zayn nods. He thinks he could do it. Louis is mirroring him, like watching Zayn palm himself is getting him hard, and that’s. 

“Zayn,” Louis says, wary, when Zayn knees across the van, barely any distance at all, “you --”

“Shh.” He moves Louis’s hand aside, replacing it with his own. “No chit chat.”

Louis laughs, making Zayn laugh too. His dick twitches under Zayn’s palm; he squeezes a bit, testing, watching Louis’s face for a reaction. 

“No one’s,” Louis bites his lip, “gonna pay for a handie through their trousers, Zayn.” When he looks up, he’s got that daring gleam in his eye. “Go on, then.”

He pushes his hips forward. Zayn feels stupid for hesitating, tries to keep his face neutral when he works Louis’s trackies off and his cock springs free. It’s just a cock.

He must take too long to move because Louis shifts, starts to say, “Listen, you --”

He shuts right up when Zayn wraps his hand around his cock, unsure at first but he gets the hang of it after a second. At least, he thinks he does, but then Louis is stopping him, hissing and grabbing at Zayn’s wrist.

“Too dry.” Zayn feels dumb watching Louis hold his hand in front of his face, sighing when Zayn just stares. “Here.” He leans up and spits in Zayn’s palm, laughing at the face he makes before bringing Zayn’s hand back down, wrapping it around his dick again, sighing into his touch. “Better. Lube works too, I usually keep some in my pockets. It’s -- fuck, like that, yeah.”

Zayn tries to remember what he’s just done so he can do it again. Whatever it was, it’s made Louis lose his train of thought. 

“The trick is,” Louis is breathing faster now, his hand still around Zayn’s wrist, “find out what they like and exploit it.”

“Makes it sound so sinister, Lou.” 

“What did I say, Zayn?” Louis holds Zayn’s wrist tighter until Zayn adjusts his grip, too. “Get in and get out.”

“Then tell me what you bloody like.”

“No,” the gravel in Louis’s voice makes Zayn painfully aware of how his own dick is pressing against his zip, “the point is for you to figure it out.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Zayn shuffles closer to Louis so he can get a better angle. It helps that he can see the flush on Louis’s cheeks now, hear what makes his breath catch. After a minute he presses the heel of his hand against his dick only to have it knocked away by Louis.

“This isn’t about you,” he says harshly.

“Sorry.” Zayn twists his wrist the way he’s figured out Louis likes. He thinks he must be close; the flush is spreading down his neck and his eyes keep fluttering closed. It makes Zayn double his efforts. He can do this, he knows he can. He just has to prove it to Louis and then he’ll take him out at night and Zayn can finally earn his keep.

“Fuck,” Louis breathes out, just once, and then Zayn’s got jizz all over his hand. He tries not to make a face -- it’s not that different than his own, he knows, but also it _is_ \-- but fails, ends up with Louis laughing at him as he slaps some leftover McDonald’s napkins on Zayn’s chest. 

“Not bad. Not great,” Louis fixes his pants, shrugging, “but I’ve had worse.”

Zayn makes a face. “Thanks,” he says sarcastically. Louis just shrugs before eyeing the tent in Zayn’s jeans. 

“Do you want to be alone for a bit?”

The offer makes Zayn’s ears burn, even though it’s stupid. He’s just tossed Louis off, there’s no point in being embarrassed. Still. It’ll go away eventually. It’s easier to wait it out than have Louis stand outside, probably thinking of ways to mock Zayn for the rest of his life.

“Or,” Louis plants his hand on Zayn’s chest, not pushing, just a dull pressure, “do you want me to show you how it’s really done?”

Zayn’s nodding before he’s even thought about it, watching Louis smile with all his teeth showing, dazzling and terrifying at the same time.

“Alright, then.” Louis has Zayn’s cock out before he can bat an eye. “What was rule one?”

Zayn sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Get in and get out.”

“Very good.” Louis is still smiling as he licks his palm, Zayn feeling like he could come from the slightest of touches. He doesn’t know how much of it is because he’s already on edge or if Louis is just that good, but fucking hell. He bucks into Louis’s fist, biting his lip to keep quiet. Louis leans in close enough that Zayn can feel his laugh before he hears it. “And then?”

**

“Louis, why the fuck not now?” 

Louis rolls his eyes and Zayn sighs, annoyed. He looks around before sneaking a block of cheese into the pouch of his hoodie. Louis’s hoodie, technically. Zayn hadn’t packed the warmest clothes when he left home.

It’s getting warmer out, though. Zayn needs to work if only because it’ll be harder to steal food when it’s twenty-seven and he’s wearing a vest. 

“Just because you’ve tossed me off a couple times you think you’re ready?” Louis asks, his voice low in case anyone comes down their aisle. 

Zayn balks. It’s been more than a couple times, him and Louis blazing and then getting off has become a bit of a habit. Enough that Zayn’s sure he’s good at it now. Wouldn’t have any trouble with it, he doesn’t think. 

“C’mon Lou, how hard could it be?”

“Hopefully very,” Louis makes a show of shaking his head, “honestly have you been listening to nothing I’ve told you?” 

Zayn socks him in the arm and tosses the cheapest package of crisps in their basket, something to pay for to make their fucking around in the Tesco seem less suspicious.

**

“Do you,” Louis shifts and their cocks grind together, making Zayn swallow against a groan. It’s changed, this thing they do, and instead of seeing how fast he can get Louis off, Zayn likes to see how hard he can make him come. Likes working him up, likes the way Louis retaliates, taking his own sweet time with Zayn, “really want to try it?”

“Yeah.” Zayn nods, rocking his hips lazily. Louis had come back late, thrilled that he’d scored good shit from Eleanor. It’s turned their whole afternoon into a lost cause. Not that Zayn’s complaining. “Told you I did.”

Louis hums, considering, but doesn’t say anything else. He looks lost in his head. Zayn wants him here, now. 

Don’t snog them, Louis had said just a few days ago, but he hadn’t objected to the drag of Zayn’s stubble over his chest, the bruise Zayn had sucked into his neck. It’s still there, faint but visible. Zayn fits his mouth over it now, smiling at Louis’s sharp gasp.

“Prove it,” Louis says suddenly, his hands holding tight to Zayn’s hips as he leans back to look at him. Zayn shrugs, pulling Louis’s cock out of his joggers readily. 

“No, blow me.”

Zayn’s head snaps up and he blinks. 

“Someone asks you to suck them off for fifty quid, you’re just going to say no?” 

“No,” Zayn says, hating how shaky his voice sounds. Fifty quid. Christ. He’s not too proud, not lately.

Louis looks at Zayn carefully, something in his eyes making Zayn squirm. Louis’s fingers stroke his side soothingly; Zayn wonders if he even realizes he’s doing it, it’s so gentle.

“How about this,” he’s moving them both while he talks, getting Zayn laid out on the duvet cover, “I’ll do you first and then you can show me how well you paid attention.”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods, lifting his hips when Louis tugs at his pants. He gets goose flesh when Louis drags his nails over his stomach, ends it with a whole-body shiver.

“I was bricking it my first time,” Louis laughs like he hasn’t got his hand round Zayn’s prick, wanking him slowly, “probably didn’t even deserve to get paid. And I’d given blowies before, mind, but it’s different. The gear shift digging into your chest or bricks against your knuckles. Kneeling on a disgusting toilet floor, someone banging on the door for you to hurry the fuck up.”

Zayn doesn’t know what to say. It sounds like about what he’s expecting. He hasn’t got a like, romantic ideal about it. He needs money. It’s shit, but it’s the truth.

“Louis?” he says, waiting until he looks up to raise his eyebrows, “you gonna talk all day or?” He pushes his cock through Louis’s slack grip pointedly.

“Fuck off.” Louis punctuates it with a stinging slap to Zayn’s stomach, the both of them laughing before Louis drags his tongue over the already-forming red mark. Zayn’s cock twitches in anticipation; he fists his hand in the duvet cover and holds his breath.

**

“Listen,” Louis taps his thumb on Zayn’s collarbone where the tiny bit of his tattoo peeks out, “You can say no, you know.” He sounds startlingly serious. “Like, if some fucker wants your mouth, just tell him to fuck off and walk away.” 

“I wouldn’t.”

“But you could.” 

“Louis.” Zayn keeps his head where it is, tipped against Louis’s bicep. He squeezes his eyes shut. His jaw aches.

Louis shrugs. “Just saying.”

&&&

It’s fucking weird, walking down the street with Zayn. Louis is so used to making this trek alone. 

Zayn’s quiet, his eyelids heavy. When Louis bumps their shoulders together he smiles, slow and easy. Fuck. He’s going to make a killing.

There’s a weird, protective bubble growing inside Louis. He’s been trying to ignore it ever since he started packing the bowl earlier, telling Zayn that it’d be easier this way. It’s only getting bigger, though, making him want to send Zayn back to the van. He grits his teeth against it.

“Here we go,” Zayn says, eyes trained on the headlamps in the distance. He bounces on the balls of his feet like a part of him is excited. 

“Wait,” Louis catches him before they can go any further, pushing his phone into Zayn’s hand. There’s not much money left on it, he’s been spending more on weed than minutes lately, but there’s enough if there’s a problem. “Just in case.”

“Thanks, mum.”

Louis laughs, shoving him, Zayn’s dulled reaction time sending them both careening into a lamp post when Louis jumps on his back. 

“S’all you,” he says, slipping back to the ground as a car approaches. Zayn takes a breath, steeling himself before stepping forward.

Louis makes himself watch the whole bloody exchange, just in case.

**

“Oh, sick, Zayn, look,” Louis says, at the same time as Zayn grabs for his hand, saying, “Lou! He’s back!”

Louis has never seen someone get so excited about a damned stray dog, but Zayn’s taking off, moving faster than Louis has ever seen him before slowing his approach, going careful like he doesn’t want to spook the thing.

“He remembers me!” Zayn yells, the dog jumping all over him. The upside to them both working now is that Louis can go out less. He’s basically back to his old, pre-Zayn schedule, the both of them working jobs when they’re low on funds, fucking about in the in-between periods. “I knew if we came to the park enough he’d catch on. And you did, didn’t you buddy? Yes, you did.”

“Must be something about this place and strays,” Louis says, watching Zayn move his hands along the grass, the dog pouncing playfully.

“It’s a lucky park, I guess.” Zayn grins up at Louis, the sun hitting him just right, making him look otherworldly. It’s too bright. Louis blinks and looks away.

“Cursed, more like.” Louis dances out of the way when Zayn swats at him.

“Get him, Billy Jean! Get him!”

“Can’t believe you named it,” Louis shakes his head, shielding his eyes so he can look out across the park. The ice cream van he’d spotted earlier is still there, thank fuck. He digs into his pockets, hoping he’s got enough for a cone. His phone vibrates while he’s searching: Liam again. Louis ignores it. He’s not in the mood to get shouted at.

“You named me right away.”

“You named yourself,” Louis corrects, jerking his thumb towards the van by way of explanation, Zayn nodding, “and I’ve regretted it every day since.”

“I’m the best thing to happen to your life!” Zayn calls after him, loud and happy in a way Louis has trouble reconciling with the Zayn he found asleep on a park bench. It feels like it was lifetimes ago. It makes no sense.

“Not even close!”

**

Zayn doesn’t ever complain about going out at nights, but sometimes Louis will feel him shaking, feel him start awake in the early hours of the morning. Louis remembers that part. He wants to tell Zayn he’ll get over it eventually, but he can’t, finds he doesn’t want to make Zayn promises he can’t keep. It’s fucked.

Instead, he finds himself crawling over Zayn on those nights, climbing out and slamming the van door with more force than is strictly necessary.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he mutters, when Zayn stumbles after him a few minutes later, his hair sticking up in all directions, making him look like an angry duck. “Want one?”

Zayn takes the cigarette while Louis lights himself a new one, the two of them sitting on the ground, watching the sun come up.

“Shook the whole van when you shut the door, Lou,” Zayn says, his voice sleep-rough, skin clammy where he’s pressed against Louis’s side. Must’ve been a bad one. “Gonna break it one day.”

“Sorry.” Louis rests his cheek against Zayn’s head, his untouched cig burning down between his fingers. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

**

“This way,” Louis snags the back of Zayn’s vest as he tries to leave the cinema, leading him round the corner to where another film’s just starting.

“Louis.” Zayn’s eyes are a bit wide, uncertain. Sometimes it’s glaringly obvious just how new to all this he is. It’s fucking precious. Makes Louis want to show him the whole bloody world, let him know just how flexible the rules really are.

He pulls the same face. “Zayn.”

It’s pissing down out there, there’s no point in them making a break for it. They used the last of their non-emergency cash to get in here, might as well get their money’s worth.

“It’ll be fine,” he pats Zayn’s cheek, feeling the stubble rough against his palm, “just be cool. And if we get arrested, give them a fake name.”

“Arrested?”

Louis fucking loves when Zayn’s voice gets high-pitched like that. It happens sometimes when Louis is blowing him and does something unexpected. Like that time he worked his finger into Zayn’s arse, made him come so hard and so fast there’s still a stain on the floor of the van because Louis hadn’t been fully prepared.

“Shh,” he hisses, putting his finger to Zayn’s lips. It’s a testament to how stressed Zayn is that he doesn’t bite at it. “C’mon.”

They see three films total. Zayn doesn’t calm down until halfway through the last one, some boring romcom that neither of them gives two shits about. Louis ends up biting the flesh of his palm to keep quiet while Zayn jerks him off in the back row. He tries not to think about how hooking up with Zayn doesn’t feel much like showing him the ropes anymore. How it’s morphed into this whole new thing, something he likes. It’s a bit like what he had with Eleanor, or Liam, but different in a way Louis can’t put his finger on. Better, too.

“Y’alright?” Zayn asks, leaning over to whisper even though they’re the only ones in the whole bloody cinema. His tongue catches on the shell of Louis’s ear and that, of all things, sends him right over the edge, Zayn laughing softly as he works Louis through it.

“I’ll,” Louis offers, still a bit shaky as he reaches over, but Zayn stops him. 

“Later, yeah? When we get home?” he says, and Louis looks over, nodding dumbly.

He watches the rest of the film in stunned silence, acutely aware of the way his heartbeat still hasn’t slowed down. He’s unable to process anything but Zayn, his face half-shadows, grinning as he licks come off his knuckles.

**

Zayn’s hair is growing out, the blond streak hidden when his quiff’s soft and unstyled. 

Louis reaches over, twisting it in between his fingers. Zayn never leaves it like this if they’re going out; it’s possible Louis is the only person who’s seen him like this. Something in Louis’s belly flares at the thought of anyone else even getting the chance. Not that he knows anyone who would. Eleanor, maybe. Or some bloke. Fuck them, though. 

“Leave me alone.” Zayn scowls, catching Louis’s hand and holding it to his chest, refusing to let go. 

“Zayyyyn,” Louis scoots closer, pushing his nose right under Zayn’s ear, where he’s ticklish, “I’m bored.” He hopes Zayn’ll get the hint, suggest they smoke up and sixty-nine or whatever, but he only sighs as he twitches away, keeps reading the dumb book he’d found in a bargain bin last week. It’s stupid. It’s not even a comic book. 

Louis keeps at it, biting Zayn’s earlobe, tugging on his earring. Zayn makes a small sound before turning the page. Louis takes it as a sign he needs to try harder, mouthing down the column of his throat, smiling when Zayn swallows thickly.

He’s halfway through an impressive love bite when Zayn twists away, elbowing him in the sternum. 

“Lou,” he says. There’s barely any space between them, Zayn nearly going cross-eyed trying to look at Louis. It’s startling, how close he is. His chapped lips, three days worth of stubble, that bloody freckle in his eye. Louis feels like all the air’s gotten trapped in his lungs for a moment, watching Zayn blink and lick his lips. 

He reaches down, plucking the book from Zayn’s hands and tossing it aside.

“ _Louis_.” Zayn frowns as Louis rolls on top of him.

“I’m bored.”

“I wasn’t!” 

“Well,” Louis reaches behind Zayn’s head for his stash, fishing out a spliff and his lighter, watching Zayn’s frown smooth out as he lights up, “now neither of us are.”

**

It’s rare that Louis is back before Zayn. He used to stick around, but it’s gotten too hard to gauge lately, is easier if they head back separately when they’re done.

On nights Louis is back first he never feels fully settled until the door slides open and Zayn’s there, bright-eyed and red-mouthed. Tonight’s no different. Louis counts his money, his pills, tries to figure out how long everything will last, until he hears footsteps outside. He can see Zayn trudging up through the window, collar scooping just low enough that Louis can see the edges of his ink in the moonlight. 

“Busy night?” he asks as Zayn crawls in. 

“Not bad. Was like...” He motions for Louis to pass him his rucksack so he can tuck most of his earnings inside. “I dunno.” He slumps opposite Louis, legs kicked out wide and inviting, an easy smile on his face. “Was good, I guess.”

“Yeah?” Louis knocks Zayn’s knee with his ankle, feeling him out. There are times Zayn comes back all keyed up, jittery like he’s snuck something from Louis’s box. “Wanna tell me about it?”

Zayn sets his hand on Louis’s ankle, holding him still, drawing circles around the bone. “Don’t want to talk, really.”

“No?”

Zayn shakes his head slowly. The way he crawls across the van is predatory, sending a shiver down Louis’s spine. He can feel his cock stirring already. It’s fucking absurd. Zayn’s not even touched him yet. 

“No chit chat, yeah?” Zayn says, voice low and thick as he eases Louis’s joggers off. He ruins it by blowing a raspberry on Louis’s thigh and cracking himself up. 

“Jesus Christ,” Louis says, even though he’s laughing, too, unable to keep from it when Zayn’s in one of his goofy moods, “it really _was_ a good night.”

Zayn shrugs again, singing, “Best night everrrrr!” into the crease of Louis’s hip. 

“Made good money,” he says eventually, chin digging into Louis’s stomach, fingers playing with Louis’s balls like it’s the most ordinary thing. “You’re a good teacher, Lou.” 

“Ah, yes,” Louis runs his thumb along Zayn’s lip, pulling it down just enough to bare his teeth, “the student becomes the master.”

Zayn’s mouth is hot and wet and wonderfully familiar as he hums his dumb, made-up song around Louis’s cock. Louis isn’t suspecting it at all, his hips jerking when he feels Zayn’s fingertip pressing against his arsehole. 

“Holy fucking,” he says, Zayn somehow anticipating it so he doesn’t end up choking on Louis’s cock.

“S’alright,” Zayn’s voice is rough, his finger insistent as he works it in and out, “just relax.”

He’s being too gentle, that’s why Louis feels like he’s going to fly out of his skin. 

“I fucking know,” he says, taking a deep breath, getting his bearings. He can feel Zayn smiling against his leg and that makes it worse somehow. “Gimme another.”

“Lou.” Zayn sounds wary. He licks up the underside of Louis’s cock, their eyes meeting over it. 

“I’m not a novice,” Louis says, “I need more than one, for fuck’s sake.”

Zayn’s eyebrows go up but that’s all the reaction Louis gets before Zayn’s withdrawing his finger, giving Louis the two he’s asked for. Even that’s fucking tentative though, so bloody slow Louis can feel it in every nerve ending he has. 

“Zayn, god,” he says, shutting his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at the way Zayn’s watching his face. He has to remind himself that Zayn’s only being gentle because that’s how Louis has been with him. He doesn’t know any other way. Which is fine, it’s fucking brilliant, but it’s not what Louis wants. What he needs.

“Can you just,” Louis takes hold of his cock, pushes back against Zayn’s hand before rocking up, guiding himself right into Zayn’s open and waiting mouth, “yeah, fuck, that’s.”

The curl of Zayn’s fingers isn’t enough, or maybe it’s too much, Louis can’t tell, feels like he’s being held right on the edge of something. He wants to come and then he wants to flip them over, show Zayn how it’s really done. That he’s still got so much more to learn. 

When he comes it’s around three of Zayn’s hesitant fingers. He feels wrung out, probably from how long it had taken Zayn to work up to that point. 

“Christ,” he breathes out, giving himself a moment to recover before taking Zayn apart so efficiently he’s got him babbling nonsense and coming on his own chest before Louis has so much as exhaled on his cock. 

Zayn passes out after, curved towards Louis like always. But the van smells like sex, the air heavy with it, humid. It makes it hard to sleep. 

Louis sneaks outside quietly, climbing up onto the roof, glad that it’s summer, plenty warm to be outside in the dead of night. 

He stretches out, limbs splayed until he takes up as much space as possible. He takes a deep breath and then another. It smells like nothing, like regular air. He’s asleep within minutes.

**

Zayn climbs up on the roof in the morning, nudging Louis awake so they can share a cigarette and a bottle of water. 

“Some drunk fuck called in the middle of the night,” Zayn drags his thumbnail along the _far away_ on Louis’s bicep, squinting up at him, looking annoyed, “woke me up. Asked for you.”

Louis snorts. “Well that could be anyone,” he says, tipping his face into the sun and taking a long drag.

“Slag,” Zayn laughs, not even trying to move away when Louis kicks at his ankles. 

&&&

It’s been months but Liam still feels like crap for how he’d left things with Louis. Well. He does and he doesn’t. He was angry with Louis for the longest time, at the whole deal and then at Louis ignoring him for weeks afterwards, refusing to answer his damn phone any time Liam’d called.

That’d made it worse, really. Had made Liam stop trying for a bit, even though it just made him hear his mum’s voice in his head. _Two wrongs don’t make a right, Liam_. Whatever. Liam’d kept on with El enough to know that Louis was fine. “Just give him time,” she’d said, but she hadn’t said how much he’d need. He hadn’t anticipated it’d be this much. 

And to make it all worse, he’s pretty sure Louis has gone and changed his number, because last night Liam got a bit too pissed at an event, had come home and tried to call only to get some bloke with a strange accent and a stammer. 

“We’ll just have to see for ourselves, yeah?” he asks Loki, who whines and crawls under the bed. Liam really hopes that isn’t a sign that this is a terrible idea, because this bloody cold war has gone on long enough.

**

Louis’s van hasn’t moved the entire time Liam’s known him. He’d asked once if it even ran and Louis acted like Liam’d insulted his mum. It’s a relief to see it still in the same spot. Such a relief that for a moment Liam’s angry all over again. He’s been _right here_ the whole bloody time.

He closes his eyes, counting backwards from ten. When he opens them there’s sweat dripping down his back from standing in the hot sun, but he feels a bit better. 

Liam knocks on the door, right over where someone’s gone and spraypainted BUS 1 in huge letters. Nothing. Cupping his hands over his eyes, he tries to peer through the window. He can’t see for shit. He bangs on the door again, harder. He’s just about to trying yelling when he hears movement and the door slides open. 

“Jesus Christ, Lou, it’s fucking unlocked.”

“Erm.” Liam feels frozen, his fist still raised like he’s going to keep pounding the door. He blinks as the bloke inside squints, shielding his face like he’s allergic to sunlight. “Does Louis still live here?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Liam.” He holds his hand out automatically, feeling like a prat even when the lad shakes it tentatively, the corners of his mouth curling like he’s about to laugh at Liam. “I’m a friend of Louis’s. Is he… do you know him? I tried calling him but he’s changed his number.”

“Oh, _you’re_ the drunk guy.” He does laugh at Liam then, but quietly so it doesn’t feel mean. “Didn’t know who the fuck you were talking about, asking for Tommo.”

Liam’s heart sinks. He never thought Louis would truly skip town, but if he’s left his phone and his van to whoever this is. Well. Liam’ll tell Eleanor later, he supposes.

“Sorry,” he says, “I’ll get out of your hair. Just. Do you know where he’s gone? Like, did he mention where he’d be staying?”

There’s a long stretch of silence while the bloke stares at him. Liam fidgets, can’t help it.

“D’you know him from work?”

“What? No,” Liam says quickly, “well, technically yes.” The bloke’s eyes had softened but they’re narrow again, making Liam hurry to explain. “Like, we met at this club, right, Louis and Eleanor used to come all the time when I worked the door and we got to hanging out all the time. Only then I stopped working there and Louis and I had a row and it’s been ages and --”

“You know Eleanor?”

Liam nods. “She said Louis was still around but that was a couple weeks back and,” he scratches the back of his neck, remembering, “she was pretty high when I talked to her, I think, so maybe she was wrong? I dunno when he left.”

“He’s just at the shops, bro, be back in like, twenty minutes, maybe?”

Liam stops trying to recall how fucked El had been when he’d bumped into her. “Seriously?” The bloke nods, rubbing at his eye with one knuckle. “I thought he’d like, skipped town and you lived here now.”

“I do. I’m Zayn.”

“I’m Liam.”

Zayn laughs quietly again. “You said.”

“Sorry, right.” He shakes his head, laughing at himself. He feels like he’s just run the whole way here or something, his insides all in a pretzel twist. He’d thought Louis was fucking _gone_. “Is it -- is it alright if I wait?”

“Guess so.” Zayn shrugs, shifting so he’s sitting with his legs out the door. Liam stays standing. Zayn taps a cigarette out of his pack, offering one to Liam.

“I’m good, cheers.” 

“Sick top,” Zayn says after a minute. Liam looks down, unsure of what he’s got on.

“Oh,” he chuckles, “Batman’s the best, isn’t he?”

“He’s pretty good.” Zayn shrugs. “Hulk’s better though.”

Liam only just stops himself from hitting Zayn in the leg. “No.” He shakes his head. “Mate, come on.”

“What?” Zayn’s face is the picture of innocence, only Liam can sort of see the quirk of his mouth around his cigarette.

“Mate.”

They’re still arguing about it when Louis gets back, so wrapped up in it that Liam doesn’t notice Louis until he’s right there, casting a shadow over Liam.

“Payno. This is certainly a surprise.” There’s an edge to his voice that Liam knows means it’s not an entirely pleasant one.

“Hey, Tommo.” He pushes off the lip of the van, waving as he stands. 

“Do you want to?” Louis hands a sack to Zayn who nods, crawling inside, the door sliding shut behind him. There’s a beat and then another before Louis cocks his head, his jaw set as he asks, “What are you doing here?” 

“Seeing if you’re okay?” Liam says, it coming out like a question even though he doesn’t mean it as one. Louis makes a face like _what the fuck_ and Liam sighs. He should’ve known Louis is too stubborn for this to be easy. “What was i supposed to do? I called but some stranger answers your bloody phone, turns out he lives in your van, too? I thought you’d bloody left or something.”

Louis scoffs and the sound sets Liam on edge. It’s fucking frustrating, how Louis thinks he’s untouchable. That the only person ever thinking about him is himself. Liam’s been worrying for weeks and this is the what he gets? Christ.

“What was I supposed to do,” he says, near shouting, “just pretend like I never knew you at all?”

“You’re the one who walked away, Payno,” Louis says, which is true but it makes Liam want to shake him all the same. 

“And you could’ve been dead for all I knew!”

“Well obviously I’m not.”

“GOOD,” Liam yells, arms flung out at his sides. 

Louis starts to laugh, small at first, it growing into full hysterics in no time at all. 

“Louis!” Liam says, upset enough that he almost stamps his foot. “It’s not funny!” 

“GOOD,” Louis yells through his laughter, closing the gap between them. “Fuck’s sake, if you missed me so much, Payno, you should’ve just said.”

“That’s not --”

“Shhhh,” Louis pulls him close, manhandling Liam until his head is cradled against his chest, “it’s alright. I’m easily missed, I know.”

“Louis,” he says. He wants to be annoyed but he’s just glad to see him again, honestly, so he shuts up and lets Louis pet his hair.

**

“Well fuck me, it _is_ a small world after all,” Liam hears. He turns to find Louis and Zayn grinning at him. 

“I must say,” Louis continues, far too upbeat for a McDonald’s after midnight, “you seem a bit overdressed, Payno. Did you get lost?”

“I was at a banquet,” Liam dodges before Louis can get his hands on his bow tie, “food was shit. Have you ever eaten escargot? It’s disgusting.”

“Well it’s snails, so.” Zayn trails off.

Liam nods, suppressing a shudder at the memory. It’d been so _slimy_.

“What are you getting?” Louis asks, tugging on Liam’s tie when he’s distracted. He pulls it off, stuffs it in his pocket so it doesn’t get lost because Louis wants to wear it around for laughs.

“Chicken McNuggets,” the girl behind the counter calls out. Liam raises his hand and goes to take them.

“Oh, same!” Zayn says, him and Louis following along. 

“Boring, the whole lot of you,” Louis sniffs, leading them to a table. Liam sits even though he’d been planning on taking his food to go. It’s fine. If he gets thirsty he’ll just buy a drink. It’s good to see Louis. And Zayn, he supposes. He hasn’t since he’d popped by the van last week, but Louis has texted him back a few times since then, so. Things are working their way back to normal.

“So, Payno, how’d the big do go? Did you shag this one, too?”

“God, Louis.” Liam can feel his face getting hot as Zayn laughs. 

“Aw, don’t worry, Zaynie here understands the business.” Louis pushes his tongue into his cheek obscenely as he throws his arm around Zayn’s shoulders. Zayn elbows him in the gut before rolling his eyes.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Are you _apologizing_ for me? I’m right here!”

Liam laughs. “It’s alright, I’ve known him ages, he’s done way worse.”

“Great,” Zayn says unenthusiastically, a sparkle in his eyes that makes Liam grin, “something to look forward to.”

“And I’ll look forward to the day you get in a strop and leave me in the street and don’t speak to me for months,” Louis says, fake cheerfully.

“Louis.” Liam’s appalled. Zayn looks confused which means Louis must not have told him about, well. Anything.

“Oh, it was a fucking joke, Payno, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” He rolls his eyes. “Come on, tell us about your fancy snail banquet. Liam’s an escort,” he explains to Zayn, “which is basically the same as what we do except he has to take rich women on dates before he fucks them.”

“Louis, that is not what it is.” Liam says.

“It’s not?”

“No.” He fixes Louis with a glare before turning to Zayn. “I only sleep with them sometimes.”

He doesn’t know why Zayn laughs so hard Fanta comes out his nose, but that’s exactly what happens.

**

“Feel a bit terrible about it, to be honest,” Liam says, Eleanor reaching out quickly to hug him before urging him onward, toward one of the open tables near the back of the shop.

“Really, Liam, we’ve all been busy. Things’ve fallen by the wayside all over the place.”

“Not like this, El.” He blows on his tea, doesn’t know how to say that he was so pissed with both of them that he didn’t want to see them for the longest time. Didn’t want to talk to them at all.

“No, listen,” she reaches across the table to touch his hand, “it’s alright, yeah? I mean, it’s not like I was seeing Lou nearly as much, either.”

“But you said --”

“He’s come round, yeah, but not like,” she scratches her neck, mouth screwed up like she’s not sure how to put it, “like it was, you know?”

There’s plenty of children around, that’s probably why she doesn’t say outright that she and Louis aren’t fucking these days, either.

Liam laughs, shaking his head. He knows it’s been awhile since his and Louis’s fight, but it’s still surprising, seeing how much has changed. It makes him feel a little better that it’s not just him, too.

“Yeah,” Eleanor says, “so. Mostly I’ve only seen him when he’s got Zayn in tow.”

Liam wants to ask so many questions. How long Zayn’s been around, how’d they meet, when did he start living with Louis. Liam’s known Louis since before he worked the door at Funky Buddha, back when he was just a kid washing dishes and Louis was trying to sneak in through the back and he’s never even seen the inside of Louis’s van.

“Have you met him yet?”

“Who, Zayn? Yeah,” he says when she nods, smiling.

“He’s so quiet.”

“Is he?” Zayn’d been a bit shy at first, but Liam thinks he’d have reacted the same if someone started pounding on his door, too. 

“He’s like, the opposite of Louis.” She shakes her head. “I don’t get it, but… I dunno. Whatever.”

Liam hums. He knows he could bring up Zayn’s flailing arms as he’d argued with Liam about superheroes, or how he’d been the one to get them kicked out of the McDonald’s that night when he started a tray fight with Louis, the both of them trying to use Liam as a shield.

“He seems cool,” he says instead, and Eleanor agrees.

**

 _footie @ king eds u shud comeeee !_ he texts Louis one morning. They used to do it quite a bit, on the rare mornings one of them wasn’t hungover or exhausted from working all night.

_not rly my scene but thx :) x_

It takes Liam a minute to work out that it’s Zayn who’s responded instead of Louis.

_u shud still come it’s so nice out !!!_

_we’ll see aha :) x_

There are a couple lads Liam knows already having a kickabout when he gets there. He looks around the park for Zayn and Louis before he joins in, but neither of them is there. Which is fine, Liam tells himself, throwing all his energy into the game. They’ve probably got their own stuff to do. 

His legs are shaky after, muscles screaming as he searches his bag for a water bottle. He’s got to start taking Loki for longer runs. 

“Oi!” Zayn jogs over, his hand low like he doesn’t want to wave to Liam full-on. “You’re pretty good.”

“Louis is better,” Liam says. Zayn tilts his head a little, smiling. It was a weird automatic response, even though it’s true. He shrugs. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Yeah, I was, uh,” Zayn gestures behind him, in front of him, all over the place, “late, you know. Didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You could’ve.”

Zayn shrugs. 

“Is Louis here, too?”

“No, he,” Zayn scratches his side, his shirt pulling weird so Liam can make out a love bite on his chest. He doesn’t stare. “I tried to get him to come, he told me to fuck off and let him sleep.”

“Working late?” 

Zayn laughs softly; Liam takes it to mean yes.

“I’ve been meaning to offer,” he says, “but my agency’s always looking for people, if you wanted. Or sometimes people will ask me directly, want me to bring a friend -- for their friends,” he adds when Zayn makes a face, “so like. If you ever want to make extra money.”

“I’m good.”

“I know Louis is always on me for shagging them, but a lot of times it really is just regular dates. Weddings, company parties, that sort of thing.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Zayn says. “No offense.”

Liam bites his lip and tries not to be insulted. He must do a shit job of keeping a straight face because Zayn coughs, shuffling his feet as he tries to explain. 

“It’s fine,” Liam cuts Zayn off when he starts to stutter something, looking uncomfortable, “Tommo’s always refused, too. But like. You should think about it, is all.”

Zayn nods, staring at some point just past Liam. It’s not very convincing.

“Oh!” Liam remembers suddenly, reaching for his bag. “I chucked these in here for you guys, just in case.” He pulls out a handful of comic books, older ones he’s not read in months. 

“What? No, you should --”

“Seriously, take them. I’ve got too many lying around my flat.”

“Liam,” Zayn thumbs open the top one, reading as he talks, “this --”

“I wouldn’t have brought them if I wanted to keep them. Honestly, mate.”

Zayn looks up, grinning, his tongue curled behind his teeth. “Thanks, Li.”

Liam hugs his bag to his chest. “Anytime.”

Truth is he hasn’t bought that many lately, most of his money going towards living expenses or straight into his bank account. He’s saving for a new watch, a nice one like he’s seen blokes who _aren’t_ getting paid to be at parties wear. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have too many comic books, though.

Zayn sits on a nearby bench, Liam watching him turn the pages. The wind picks up and Zayn shivers in just his thin henley. 

“Here,” Liam pulls his fleece out of his bag. He’s still too sweaty to wear it.

“I’m alright, thanks.”

“Zayn.” Liam’s got like, two more of them at home. There’s no sense in Zayn catching his death out here, he’s all skin and bones as it is and the weather’s only getting colder.

“Liam.”

The sharp edge in Zayn’s voice makes him shove the jumper back in his bag. 

“Wait,” he says after a moment, reaching for a different comic, trying to brush past the awkward silence, “this one’s even better, let me show you the best part.”

He’d be a fool not to notice the way Zayn’s shoulders slowly relax as they flip through the pages, Liam’s stupid jumper tucked out of sight under their feet.

**

 _THINK ABOUT ITTTTTTT_ he texts Zayn after the fact. 

It’s a whole day before he gets a response.

_no one wants to eat slugs w/u payno ffs_

**

Liam checks his phone for the tenth time in as many minutes, scanning the club’s queue in case they’ve misunderstood his text. Nothing. He checks the last message he’d gotten, wondering if maybe it’s him that misunderstood.

_lou’s being a brat but i’ll wear him down aha ! c u l8r :D x_

He’s pretty sure that meant they’re coming, but maybe. Maybe Louis won out in the end. He’s been strange again lately, bailing at the last minute, Zayn coming to hang out with Liam on his own more often than not.

“Payno Payno Payno, oi oi oi!”

Liam tries not to sag visibly when he hears Louis over everyone else. They come bounding up together, laughing and covered in neon face paint. Zayn’s got lopsided lines on his cheeks, Louis with careful dots curved under one eye, over the other.

“Bus one is here to partyyyy,” Louis yells, him and Zayn doing some complicated dance that’s all arm movements, both of them cracking up laughing. Liam laughs along even though he’s got no clue what they’re on about. Rarely does when they’re like this, all half-sentences and inside jokes.

“It’s your turn!” Zayn takes Liam’s chin in his hand, holding him still. “Sorry, the paint took longer than we thought.”

He elbows Louis, who touches his pockets before frowning. “Shit, I forgot it. Sorry, Payno.”

“S’alright,” Liam shrugs, just glad they’re here, finally.

“This is _sick_ , Li,” Zayn shouts once they’re inside, the black lights making his face paint stand out in the dark. He looks wicked. “Can’t believe you got us in here. Let me buy you a drink.”

He’s leading the way across the floor, yelling to a bartender before Liam can object. Shouting something Liam can’t hear before touching their shot glasses and knocking his drink back. Whatever he’s ordered burns going down.

“Shit!” Liam yells, Zayn laughing and sticking his tongue out. 

“What the fuck, where’s mine?” Louis asks, worming between them.

“You didn’t get us in free, Louis. You should be buying Liam a drink.”

Louis laughs, making a face. “Liam drinks for free here.”

Zayn’s eyebrows go up. Liam shrugs sheepishly. 

“I’ll pay you back,” he says, feeling bad. He knows Zayn’s not got much. That’s why they’re here, at Funky Buddha’s weird “All the Rave” party, instead of anywhere else. 

Zayn just laughs, pushing Liam’s stomach, curling his fingers in Liam’s shirt when he wobbles. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I’ll get the next round then,” he promises, Zayn nodding, smiling with his tongue curled up like he does so often now. Liam finds himself grinning back.

“Cheers, Payno!” Louis says, grabbing Zayn’s wrist and tugging him away, “we’ll be back for those drinks.”

Zayn resists for a moment, jerking his chin towards Liam, but Louis leans in, says something that makes Zayn bite his lip. He lets himself be led away.

They’re halfway to the toilets when Louis looks back, shooting Liam a wink over his shoulder, and _oh_. Liam leans against the bar. He wonders how he hadn’t realized sooner.

&&&

“So where were you off to with Liam?” Louis asks nonchalantly, like he’s not got Zayn’s cock in a tight grip. 

“What?” Zayn’s hips move restlessly against Louis’s weight in his lap. 

“Liam,” Louis punctuates it with a twist of Zayn’s nipple, setting his hips off again. Zayn had been out when Louis had gotten back to the van that evening, showing up with a smile Louis’d wanted to suck right off. Said he was out with Liam like it was no big deal. It’s been happening more lately, and it sets Louis on edge.

“Oh, just at this comic book shop he wanted me to see,” Zayn’s eyes are glazed from the bowl they’d shared before Louis’d trailed his fingers up Zayn’s thigh, in the mood for a lazy go. “Why, thought you said you didn’t want to hang out with Liam?”

“I don’t.” He really, really doesn’t. He doesn’t know why Zayn does, why he laughs at Liam’s confused jokes and shit stories. But then again, it’s not like Liam gets to see Zayn like this, kit off and a sheen of sweat covering his skin. 

“So?” Zayn sounds breathless. “No harm then. Told me about a funny do he went to. Said there’s one next week.”

“For what?” Louis slows his hand, Zayn making a frustrated noise and pushing up, his hands squeezing at Louis’s thighs. “Oi, hold still.” 

“Um,” Zayn goes still when Louis shifts his weight to hold him down more easily, “dunno, for us both? I guess. Sounds shit, but the pay…”

“You’re gonna go on a gig with _Liam_?” Louis releases Zayn’s cock entirely, Zayn making a face. What the shit, actually. What the actual shit.

“Thought I’d try it once, at least.” Zayn moves under Louis, circling his hand around Louis’s cock. “Louis, c’mon, yeah? What do you want?”

“I want,” a lot of things, Louis supposes. Right now, he doesn’t much want to hear Zayn talk anymore. He sits back, sliding off of Zayn entirely and shuffling up so his cock is bobbing out in front of Zayn’s face, Zayn watching him the whole time. His fucking eyelashes are so long they leave shadows on his cheeks, fuck’s sake. 

“Yeah, okay,” Zayn grins, licking at his lips and rolling like he’s about to get up to suck Louis off. It’s not enough, though, Louis feeling like his brain’s gone static. 

“No,” he says, “like this.” He takes himself in hand, pushing back his foreskin and dragging the tip of his cock over Zayn’s lips, gone shiny in the dim light from the blocked up back window. 

“Mmm,” Zayn hums, and he reaches his hand up, but Louis catches his wrist.

“At your sides, mate.” Louis doesn’t know why Zayn does it immediately, nodding up at him with a glint in his eye, but it makes Louis’s cock twitch in his grip, smearing more wet across Zayn’s lips, both of them groaning. 

Louis finally breaks Zayn’s gaze, gone off with it, to let go of his cock and thumb at Zayn’s lips, hooking it into his mouth so it’ll open enough that he can guide his cock inside. 

Zayn groans, relaxing immediately and letting Louis in. Louis shifts so he can get a better angle, knows that Zayn’s neck has got to be cricking up like that even though he’ll never say it. He starts up a rhythm slow, cock gliding in the wet heat of Zayn’s mouth. He threads his fingers through Zayn’s hair to hold his head steady, cupping Zayn’s cheek with his other hand to feel the thrust of his cock through the thin skin there, rough with stubble. 

Zayn’s eyes go wide the first time Louis thrusts deeper, holding him still when the head of his cock nudges the back of Zayn’s throat. He doesn’t even flinch, Zayn’s lack of gag reflex a delightful surprise, back when they’d started all this. He does it again, and then again until he’s built up a rhythm, Zayn moaning brokenly with each snap of Louis’s hips, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” Louis realizes that Zayn’s got his hands at his sides, digging into his skin. “Toss yourself off.”

Zayn breathes out hard the second he gets a hand around himself, a groan rumbling through his throat that travels straight through Louis’s cock. It’s enough to tip Louis off the edge, balls drawing up tight as he comes, pulling back so he doesn’t choke Zayn. He feels himself curl in on himself in the after, softening cock falling from Zayn’s lips, the slick sounds of Zayn’s hand on his cock all he can hear. 

“Louis,” Zayn croaks out after he comes, sounding so wrecked that Louis almost feels ashamed for how his cock twitches. “Fucking hell.”

“Yeah,” Louis grins, hand reaching up to massage at Zayn’s scalp where he knows he pulled his hair hard as fuck. Zayn’s not gonna get that going out with any old bird. 

**

“Stop whingeing, Jesus.” El taps at Louis’s shoulder, and he goes still, waits for her to finish rinsing his hair. 

“I’m not,” Louis insists, sitting back and shaking his head like a dog when El gives him a look. “What? I’m not.”

“If you’re gonna sit here the whole time going on about how Zayn’s dared to go out with Liam and make good pay, then you’re stuck with a mullet forever.” El cocks her hip, fist closed around the scissors. 

“It’s also _not_ a mullet,” Louis waits for El to retort, testing it out when he says, “sorry El, it’s just some shit.”

El sighs, adjusting the threadbare towel over Louis’s shoulders and combing her fingers through his hair. “He’s allowed to try it, you giant arse.”

“He’ll hate it.” Louis closes his eyes when she makes the first cut, usually forgets that part and ends up digging bits of hair out of his eyes for hours. 

“Maybe,” El sounds noncommittal and distracted, which is nice when Louis doesn’t want his hair to look like shit, but right now he also needs her to be indignant with him. 

Louis peeks open one eye so he can wait until she pauses to dig his fingers into her sides, her bony hips pushing into his palms. “El.”

“Alright,” El laughs, angling away from him to move to the back, snipping away, “don’t really think he’s suited for it, not with his nature, but.”

“But _what_?” Louis fights to stay still, El tugging at his hair to make sure his ends are even. 

“It’s probably good for him, y’know?” El tuts, making a few more snips as she breathes full in Louis’s face, eyeing his fringe. “Spends so much of his time with you.”

“I am a gift, El.”

“That you are,” she smiles, “or, used to be, at least once a week.”

“You wound me.” Louis can feel himself evening out a bit though, by the way she’s flitting around him. He forgets, sometimes, how good a distraction El can be, even if he is itching to get back to Zayn. 

“Soz,” El laughs, “think you’re good. But listen,” she straightens up to let him rub at his head with the towel, “if you’re worried, like.”

“Not worried,” Louis says automatically. He thinks she cut his fringe too short, fucking hell. 

“Either way,” El turns to the sink, starting the water to hold the scissors underneath, “keep your twat nature in check, if you really want him to stay around.”

“Hasn’t sent you running yet.” Louis thinks about it for a moment; he thinks that’s something Zayn likes about him, to be entirely honest. That maybe he’s the first real one, after Eleanor. 

“Hmmm,” El checks out a spot in the mirror, “it’s not the same, now, is it?”

**

Zayn is having a full strop. Just. Louis’s tongue is nearly bleeding with the effort it’s taking not to say _I told you so_ , trying not to look overly delighted as Zayn wrestles out of his suit. 

“Then,” Zayn huffs out, fighting with the buttons on his cuffs, “I had to like, sit there and hold her hand, meet all these people. They kept asking me all these _questions_.”

“The horror.” Louis grins, reaching over to yank at Zayn’s belt, pulled too tight for the borrowed suit from Liam to try and make it fit. “How many times did you have to tell people your name, Zayn?”

“Fuck,” Zayn’s so stressed out over it, he doesn’t even pick up on how Louis’s taking the piss, “dunno, I lost count.”

“Did you have to,” Louis makes a wanking motion, Zayn finally down to just his pants.

“No, but,” Zayn sighs, the first hint of a smile on his face, “one of the waitresses? Sniffed me out, yeah? Gave me her tips for a quick shag in the toilets.”

“Zayn.” Louis takes a look at him again, thinks now he can see a smudge of a mark on his neck. Doesn’t think he left it, knows Zayn never lets the blokes get that far. “You’re shitting me.”

“No,” Zayn shrugs, “I guess I was just making the best of a bad situation? Got her number, I’m supposed to call round for another go next month at hers, guess she’s got an unsatisfactory husband.” He grins, pulling the mess of the suit in his lap, starts folding it.

“A regular, cheers.” Louis feels struck dumb. He’s got a few blokes who come ‘round pretty regularly, yeah, but nothing like he’s traveling to their house for a go. 

“Told her fifty quid for a shag, she barely hesitated and all,” Zayn’s smile is wide, and he looks up at Louis like he’s asking for praise, “pretty good, yeah?”

“Think you shortchanged yourself,” Louis watches Zayn put a bloody crease in the trousers. “What _are_ you doing?”

“Gotta give it back to Liam,” Zayn turns, setting the carefully folded trousers to the side, “don’t want to give it back fucked up or summat.”

“Fuck that,” Louis feels a heat rise in his veins, thinks Liam can deal with some bloody wrinkles. “Unless you’re gonna keep it for another go?”

“I already said when I got back,” Zayn points out, still folding, “never again. Think Liam’ll be alright with it.”

“Well then,” Louis leans forward, pulling Zayn so he’s on his back in a huff of breath and tossing the bloody jacket to the side, “Liam can get it dry cleaned, it can be his problem.”

“Suppose,” Zayn’s eyes are dark, his nails scratching at Louis’s back when he dips his head down to lick across the plane of his abs, reaching down to get Zayn’s cock out. 

Turns out, an expensive suit is _great_ for wiping spunk on. 

**

Louis wakes up one afternoon feeling like he’s far too hungover to keep on living, figures all he’ll need is the usual - cigs and strong tea and about as right as rain as he’ll get. Except half a pack later and sending Zayn off for tea twice hasn’t done a thing to dull the ache between his eyes.

“Maybe water?” Zayn asks, holding up a bottle and making a face when Louis waves it away. “What did you _take_ last night? You were--”

Zayn trails off, moving his hand about like a snake a bit. If it weren’t for the bloody throbbing head Louis would laugh his arse off at the look on Zayn’s face, mouth gone a bit like a fish while he remembers. To tell the truth, Louis’s not sure what he took, just knows it was blue. Something new El had when they went out, Louis finally giving into her needling claims that she never sees him anymore. She’d passed it to him with her mouth on the dance floor of the shit club they were at, neither of them feeling rich enough for the Buddha, and it hadn’t really hit him til he was already back at the van, tripping in through the door and waking Zayn up immediately. Had felt like he was fucking flying, he remembers, when Zayn had tongued at his slit hard right as he came. 

Now, though.

“Don’t fucking know what I took, just that I think I need to be buried ‘bout now.” Louis pinches at the bridge of his nose, trying a grin, “though I don’t think you minded it much.”

“Well,” Zayn’s flustered. And Louis fucking loves when Zayn’s like that, dying or no. 

“Loved it when I--”

“Alright!” Zayn’s voice is pitched high, making Louis flinch. “Listen, maybe drink that water, yeah?” He leans forward, touching his hand tentatively to Louis’s forehead. “Get some sleep. I’ll go out tonight, you stay in?”

“Awww,” Louis keeps his tone sarcastic, feeling like he’s about to drop off just from Zayn’s fingers smoothing over his skin, “you’re so…”

“So what, Lou?” Zayn asks, but he seems far away. 

He stirs awake, not sure how long later except it’s dark, Zayn moving about quietly. When Louis opens his eyes, testing it, he feels a touch better, he supposes. Not quite there yet, but. On the mend. 

Zayn’s got his hair up in his quiff. “Louis?” he asks, quietly.

“Be louder, Zayn, I dare you,” Louis feels a twat, but whatever. 

“Soz,” Zayn grimaces, his voice set at a whisper, “here, you take this.”

He fumbles about, finally coming up with the mobile and placing it next to Louis’s head. 

“What, so I can call you if my head falls out my skull?” Louis groans, “makes sense, Z.”

“No, just,” Zayn shrugs, “dunno, think I’d feel more settled if you’d have it? I won’t be gone too long, just wanna get a couple in is all.”

Oh. “Alright,” Louis closes his fingers around it. Zayn’s been at this for ages now, months and months; to be honest, Louis hasn’t worried as much about him being out in forever. Zayn’s a natural by now, shuttered up and in and out fast as can be. 

“Good.” Zayn grins around an exhale, like he really was worried Louis wouldn’t agree. It makes Louis’s head throb a bit again, if he’s being honest. “Be back, yeah?”

“Cheers,” Louis accepts the water Zayn hands him before he’s climbing back out of the van again. 

Louis lets his eyes drift closed, tries to relax since he knows it’ll be a bit of time to kill. He knows he must doze off a bit, jolted awake by the insistent buzz of the phone by his head. Fumbling, he squints at the screen, the text from Liam.

_Z kno u said u were done but I got a do that’s less formal next week think about itttt x!!_

Fucking Liam. Louis’s up and out the door before he even realizes what’s happening.

**

“Zayn here?” Louis strolls into Liam’s flat, pushing past Liam’s shocked face and glancing around. He doesn’t think that Zayn’s there, not a chance, but he wants to get under Liam’s skin, make him uneasy so he’ll itch with it.

“Zayn?” Liam looks well confused when Louis turns. “He doesn’t - he doesn’t even know where I live? Is everything okay?”

“Hmmm.” Louis holds up his phone. “Got your text.”

“About the gig?” Liam’s speaking slow, watching Louis suspiciously. Or maybe not suspiciously. Like he’s tentative. 

Good. He bloody should be. 

“Yes, _Liam_ , about the gig,” Louis crosses his arms so he won’t give in and reach down to scratch behind Loki’s ears like the little dog’s angling for, “can’t you ever just let up?”

“It’s a much less formal do, is all,” Liam shrugs. He’s not smiling, at least. “Wouldn’t even have to wear a suit. I thought--”

“Well you thought wrong!” Louis knows he’s yelling, knows he sounds stroppy and unhinged. He doesn’t bloody care. His head’s still throbbing dully and Liam needs to learn his place.

“Louis, what the fuck is going on?” Liam’s speaking low, but there’s a tinge of anger there now. “Did I upset Zayn, or…”

“Zayn doesn’t want to do it. He told you he doesn’t want to, and you’re still on it, texting away.”

“I sent one text, Louis! One!” Liam’s finally up for it, pacing back and forth still stuck in his doorway, Louis boxing him in. “I got a call for a much different gig than normal and it sounded like Zayn might like it better. Said they had a second opening. That’s all. You’re so--”

“I’m so _what_?” Louis sneers, can hear how warped his voice sounds. He glances over at the time on Liam’s too big posh watch, thinks he should get back soon. 

“Just.” Liam pauses, face screwed up like he gets when he’s trying to find a word. “Difficult. I want to be your mate, Louis. It doesn’t have to be a war.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be yours, eh Liam?” Louis watches Liam’s face fall slightly, hitting his mark perfect. “Just, leave us the fuck alone. I’ll call you if I need you for something.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Liam gets out, sounding strangled when Louis pushes past him to leave. “Louis, wait --”

Louis closes the door, legging it down the hall. He feels better already. 

**

Zayn’s there when he gets up the next morning, his knee pressing into Louis’s side as he sits cross-legged, glasses slipping down his nose as he reads. 

“Oi,” Louis croaks out, rubbing the sleep out of his eye and stretching so he’s curled around Zayn as he sits.

“Hey, lazybones,” Zayn glances down at him, mouth curling up in a slow smile. “You look like you’re not feeling so shit.”

“I feel ace, to be honest,” Louis lifts his head, testing it. He’d felt so much better when he’d gotten back that he’d run the heat for a while, finally turning it off to fall asleep under a pile of blankets. Liam hadn’t called, hadn’t even texted. Finally fucking got the hint for bloody once in his life.

“Sick,” Zayn grins then, the one where the tip of his tongue pushes out between his teeth. “Didn’t want to wake you, don’t have a death wish. This book’s pretty good though.” He reaches for the stack of comics in the corner, searching until he finds whatever one he’s looking for to stick in his place. He tosses the book to the side, looking down at Louis and smiling.

“You’ll have to tell me about it later so I don’t have to read it ever.” Louis laughs at the grimace Zayn pulls. “Aw, Zayn, don’t be sad.”

“I’m not,” Zayn shrugs, “‘s alright, I’ll just have to tell Liam, it’s the one thing I got out of that shit job other than the money. My like, pretend bird? Was reading this, I took it from her bag because I got bored and forgot to give it back.”

Louis feels himself tense up. “Stealing from the clients, they’ll never have you back.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, laughing. “Oh, and I was going to ask, think we can call round to El’s later? I wanna fix my hair up, this blonde’s only at the tip now, looks shit.” He’s fussing with his fringe, looking up crosseyed, so he doesn’t expect it when Louis twists to pull him down on top of him. It takes Zayn a minute to right himself, so they’re tangled up together. Zayn’s still laughing, sounding breathless.

“What’s happening, Louis?” Zayn says into Louis’s neck, sharp teeth followed by a soothing tongue.

“Feel sick again,” Louis lets his hands travel down to the curve of Zayn’s arse, pushing him down so he can rock up, feeling like all his blood’s rushing to his cock, “feel like I need you to suck me off.”

Zayn exhales, and Louis rocks up again, making a pleased sound when Zayn’s cock slides against his through their joggers. 

“What are you gonna do for me?” Zayn asks after a moment, planting his hands on either side of Louis’s head and meeting his eyes. Zayn’s pupils are already blown out; he’s always so easy for it that Louis’s already leaking in his pants.

“Gonna let you suck me off.” Louis reaches up to run his thumb along the swell of Zayn’s chapped lower lip, pushing inside to bump along the ridges of his teeth. “It’s my gift, to you.”

Zayn watches him for a long moment, so long that Louis starts to feel frustrated; on edge. He wants to take Zayn apart without even touching his cock, doesn’t know why. Louis opens his mouth to tell Zayn what to do when Zayn’s shuffling back, mouthing at Louis’s cock through the thin material of his joggers before getting it out. He pushes it all the way forward so the head pushes against Louis’s stomach, breath hot against Louis’s balls as he licks up the underside, staring up at Louis the whole time.

“Get to it,” Louis knows how Zayn can suck cock, how he can do it slow, but he doesn’t give a shit at this particular moment. He’s calling the shots, right now. Always.

“Impatient,” Zayn murmurs, against the head of Louis’s cock, before closing his lips around and sucking, hard. Louis can feel his stomach tense immediately at the wet heat of Zayn’s mouth, at the swirl of his tongue, at how tight his fist is as he wanks him off in the rhythm Louis’s taught him well. 

Zayn doesn’t bother doing anything other than that, either, his pace so relentless he isn’t dragging his finger down further past Louis’s balls or relaxing so Louis can fuck his mouth. He doesn’t look up, Louis focusing on the blonde tip of his fringe that’s nearly long enough to graze against the skin of Louis’s stomach, his orgasm barreling down faster than he’s ready for. 

“ _Fuck_.” Louis gets out, just in time for him to come. He pushes his hand into Zayn’s hair, holding tight suddenly. He wants to push him. “Don’t swallow.” Zayn makes a surprised noise, soft, and Louis can hear how harsh his voice sounds when he speaks again.

“Don’t swallow.”

Zayn sits back, his mouth turned down almost like he’s frowning slightly. There’s a drop of come at the corner of his lips, which Louis thumbs at when he sits up, leaning forward.

“Hold it in your mouth, yeah?” Louis leans forward, tongue touching where his finger just was. Zayn inhales, sharp, and Louis grins when Zayn goes entirely still. He knows Zayn’s gotten used to how they rarely snog unless it’s a shotgun gone too far, if it’s too dark or they’re too high to realize what they’re doing. 

Zayn trusts him. Louis likes it. Doesn’t know why, but he likes it. It makes him...there’s a part of him that always wants to ruin Zayn. Just a little bit. Just because he can. Zayn lets him.

He slides his tongue slowly along Zayn’s bottom lip, licking into his mouth carefully. The bitter taste of his own spunk isn’t a novelty, and he’s pleased that Zayn didn’t swallow any of it; followed what Louis said to the letter. Zayn’s slow at first, like he’s not sure, and Louis angles his head so he can deepen the contact.

Zayn’s tongue moves against his, and Louis hums, pushing his come from his tongue back onto Zayn’s. They’re not snogging properly, not really at all, and Zayn’s hips are moving restlessly the further Louis pushes forward. He makes a noise like a question when Louis pulls back, most of his come back in his own mouth. Zayn’s mouth is slack, lips shiny. His eyes are so fucking dark they’re almost black.

Louis glances down, fingers working quick to get Zayn’s cock out. He leans down, opening his mouth so that spit and come land over the head to ease the glide of his hand, Zayn’s hips bucking up hard, once. 

“ _Louis_ , the fuck?” Zayn breathes out. “The fuck?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Louis doesn’t look up. “I’m busy.”

&&&

Zayn is twenty. Been twenty, for a full week now. It’s fucked, was his first birthday without….well, without a lot of things. But he had Louis, who woke him up with a spliff and a quick wank, even let Zayn spend the whole day in his favorite rundown library, keeping up a running commentary before fucking off to pass out on one of the sofas in the back. Although, Zayn’s pretty sure the fact that the library has more heat than the van on its best day has something to do with the fact that he only spent half the time acting a whiny twat.

They had Nando’s for dinner. Extra mash and all. Wasn’t a bad birthday. 

It’s a cold night, so cold that Zayn does an extra just because the bloke’s been idling at the kerb for so long that Zayn knows it’ll be warm, hot air from the blowers on his face while he handles things. He can feel the buzz of the phone in his pocket on his way back home, glances down to see it’s just some nonsense. They’re almost out of it, gotta put some more money down.

Liam’s not sent anything in a while. It’s weird. It took Zayn a couple of days to notice; he had gotten used to regular contact with Liam, likes hanging out with him even if he’s always on about getting Zayn to go escorting again. It’s not on, but Liam’s nice, knows all about the best comics and makes Zayn feel at ease, sometimes. Not so much like he’s flying about. 

Sometimes Zayn wants to ask Louis why he’s so hot and cold on Liam. Wants to ask Liam the same, though sometimes he notices the helpless look Liam gives Louis when he’s on a streak, or the way his eyes crinkle up when Louis calls him Payno in that same tone Zayn recognizes, the one that makes Zayn’s breath go off kilter.

But he doesn’t. At the end of the day, Zayn knows that he’s got Louis, and maybe that’s all he really needs. Even when he’s an absolute twat. Maybe the most, then.

Louis’s already back when Zayn opens the door, the van idling like he’s not been back too long, it still chilly enough that Zayn shrugs off his jacket but leaves on his jumper. Louis’s eyes are bright, like maybe he took a pill or already smoked up. Zayn’s not much for the pills, tries them sometimes if he’s out with both Louis and El, but they make him feel so outside of himself, looking in. Drives him mad.

“How was it?” Louis grins, his hand skimming over Zayn’s thigh when he settles next to him. 

“Not bad,” Zayn pulls out his earnings, handing Louis half, “put it toward the mobile, yeah? Got a notice.”

Louis makes a face. “Feel like we just got one.”

“Yeah mate, and I think we ignored it.” Zayn laughs, patting down his pockets for a lighter when Louis holds up a bowl, already packed tight. “Hold on a tick, I know I’ve got it.”

“Go ahead, take longer,” Louis leans back, sprawling out so his foot nudges at Zayn’s leg. “I’m not dying for it, or anything.”

“You’re fine,” Zayn finally closes his fist around it, tugging it out of his pocket, coming up with it and a sachet of lube.

“Hey hey,” Louis raises his eyebrows. “Presumptuous.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn mutters, Louis laughing as he hands over the bowl. Zayn flicks the lighter, taking a deep hit. 

“Better, babe?” Louis puts on an affected voice. “Were a bit tetchy.”

“Yeah, well,” Zayn watches Louis take a hit, the play of the light making his cheekbones look sharp. “Hey, you heard from Liam?”

Louis pauses, exhaling in Zayn’s direction. “Why?”

“Just wondered,” Zayn looks down, feels like he’s saying the wrong thing for some reason, even though he knows that he couldn’t, not with Louis. “Just been awhile, I suppose.”

“Liam,” Louis sounds like he’s talking about food gone off, “doesn’t know his place.”

“Oh.” Zayn reaches for the bowl, but Louis takes another hit instead. Zayn’s not gonna ask more, knows Louis won’t react well. It’s surprising, then, when Louis actually continues.

“He just thinks that he can force people into shit, into how they’re supposed to be. Can’t listen. Can’t take a hint.” Louis pauses, meeting Zayn’s eyes, Zayn unable to look away.

“Oh.” Zayn says again. “I mean, I think he means well?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Louis shakes his head, his gaze intense. “If it’s shit, it’s shit.”

“Right,” Zayn wonders what Liam really did. Sounds bad, if it’s even got Louis talking. 

“Got a bird tonight,” Louis exhales, setting the bowl to the side. “Her bloke drove her and all.”

“No shit,” Zayn starts laughing, “did he stay in the car?”

“Waited outside!” Louis sits up, like he does when he’s about to start one of his grand stories. It makes Zayn relax, like nothing else matters at all.

**

_Lissen can we talk? lemme kno xx_

The text comes when Zayn’s at Asda picking up some crisps on the way home from the library. Liam. He knows that the text isn’t for him, that it’s really meant for Louis. He also knows that if Louis had the mobile when it came in, it’d be deleted immediately. Zayn glances at the window near the front; it’s still early yet, the sun still out. Louis’ll still be asleep, had told Zayn to fuck off when he tried to wake him up. Said that it’s winter, it’s time for hibernating. 

_Soz mate, it’s Zayn!_

Zayn stares at the mobile, doubling back through the aisles at a slow pace. Liam usually texts back immediately, and Zayn’s pretty sure he must be sitting there, waiting for Louis to say something. 

_Aha ! where r u , want to get a coffee? i’m by king eds_

Zayn hesitates. He’s normally one to stay out of things, not upset people, like. Not upset Louis, make him go off weird and quiet and mean. But. It’s been a few weeks since he’s even seen Liam. 

_K. ten min?_

Liam just sends back a string of smiley faces, so Zayn heads toward the front of the shop to queue up and pay for his crisps. 

When Zayn gets to the small coffee shop near the park Liam’s already there, pacing back and forth in front of the doors, a scarf over his face and his hands jammed in his pockets. He bounces a bit when he sees Zayn, waving, and Zayn tries to decide if he’s going to wave in return, undecided until he finally ends up flopping his hand out awkwardly. 

“It’s fucking freezing, mate, you could’ve went in,” Zayn laughs, holding the door when Liam opens it and glances back at Zayn over his shoulder like he’s checking he’ll still be there. 

“It’s alright,” Liam shrugs. “I wasn’t waiting long.” 

Zayn looks at Liam, assessing. “Okay.” There’s no reason for Liam to lie, anyway. He doesn’t think. He’s not sure, to be honest, wonders now when he’s taking in the line of Liam’s shoulders as he orders; what did he do that was so bad Louis turned so quick, never even mentioned him before he’d knocked on the door that day?

“Sir?” 

Zayn looks up, the lad behind the counter apparently waiting for his order. Zayn glances up at the menu, remembering how much change he had.

“Small coffee, please.”

Liam’s oddly subdued while they wait, not saying anything other than a quiet thanks to the bird who hands them their drinks. He still doesn’t speak when they settle at a table, taking the time to shrug out of his jacket and push up the sleeves of his jumper. Normally Zayn likes quiet, but it doesn’t really fit Liam, or the way he keeps glancing over at Zayn like he wants to say something.

“Erm,” Liam smiles, finally speaking, “I sort of, I wanted to say, like -- you know, I didn’t realize that I,” he takes a deep breath, biting at his lip. 

“You dying, mate?” Zayn laughs, hoping it’ll put Liam at ease. “What’s happening?”

“I’m sorry?” Liam sits up, “no, I mean, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable? About the gigs?”

“The gigs?” Zayn doesn’t get it, why Liam’s got this look on his face like he’s terrified Zayn’s about to tell him he’s a twat. “I hated it, but, I’m not doing anything I don’t want. I sort of figured you’d keep trying.”

“Oh.” Liam’s eyebrows shoot up, his mouth moving like he’s working something out. “Well, I didn’t want to not apologize in case you felt. I dunno. Proper uncomfortable.”

“I would have told you to stuff it,” Zayn shrugs, glad when Liam seems like he’s spreading out a bit more. “But thanks.”

“It’s just, Louis said--” Liam starts, looking down. “He’s not too pleased with me, I suppose.”

“Well,” Zayn’s not sure what to say, wishing Louis would tell him more sometimes. Make Zayn feel less like a useless arse.

“I suppose he hasn’t told you much, though.” Liam laughs; at least, it seems like a laugh. “Not too much about me at all.”

“Louis and I don’t really talk much about like, mates and family and stuff.” Zayn hadn’t fully realized, but it’s true. Louis never asked, not even when Zayn would mess up, something slipping out. Zayn looks down at his hands, considering.

When Zayn looks back over at Liam, he’s pushing up his jumper further, holding out his forearm. There’s some ink there, a stark black v or something.

“We’d been friends a year when I got this,” Liam pushes at it with his finger, “I dunno, I thought it was nice. He thinks I’m mental for it.”

Zayn’s stomach sinks. He still doesn’t really know what to make of anything, still feels that question at the back of his mind that Louis wouldn’t be so...not without Liam doing something. 

“Give Louis time, mate.” Zayn tries to think of the best way to make Liam look less like a sad puppy. “You two had a row before, right? If that hadn’t worked itself out, you wouldn’t even be talking to me now, yeah?”

“Oh.” Liam grins, his eyes crinkling up. “Zayn, that’s right. Brilliant.”

“Just stay backed off,” Zayn shrugs, figuring that Louis’ll wear down eventually, “he’ll come around.”

“I’d say I’d call you sometimes, but,” Liam laughs, “guess I can’t since you don’t have your own bloody mobile.”

“I’ll call you if I get bored or summat,” Zayn pokes at Liam’s arm, right on his ink, “but don’t expect it.”

**

It all seems to look up, after the afternoon with Liam; Zayn even mentioned bumping into him with Louis. Sure, all Louis had done was snort and mutter something Zayn couldn’t catch before knocking him back, covering his mouth with this hand and sucking him off, hard, but. It could’ve gone worse.

And Louis was right about it being hibernation season - it works so much better when it’s cold as fuck, their sleeping schedule flipped so far that Zayn’s sure they could be considered nearly nocturnal. He tries, dragging himself awake before Louis, cutting it down to a couple of naps a day. 

“Did you see how it turned out? Sick.” Louis is already peeling at the edge of his bandage, inhaling sharp. When Zayn looks over he can see that Louis’s biting at his lip. 

“I did, yeah? Showed it to me in the shop.” Zayn laughs, reaching over to flick at Louis’s wrist. “Oi, leave it.”

“Dunno how you do that hand shit, mate,” Louis looks down, his finger tracing lightly over the top of Zayn’s hand, where his own “Bus 1” tattoo is there, a dull throb echoing in his veins. 

“Guess I got high pain tolerance,” Zayn shrugs, holding his hand still so Louis won’t pull away. They rarely touch like this, the soft bits. It’s not that Zayn cares that much until it happens like this, almost like it’s an accident. Then he remembers how it can feel. Quiet.

“I’ve noticed,” Louis says lightly, and Zayn can feel his face grow hot, even if he knows Louis’s speaking abstractly, not that he’s slapping him about. Just. The sharp drag of Louis’s teeth on his skin, though. The too tight grip of his hand. The sound of his voice, telling him what to do.

“Only thing,” Zayn tips his head back, shifting so Louis’s warmth is pressed down all along his side, “is I’m cleaned out now, can’t get another for ages. Need to go out more, I think. Even though it’s so fucking cold.”

“Could go out the same,” Louis’s head lands on his shoulder, “make more.”

“How would I do that, Louis? Inflation? Wank inflation? Know we’re not too far into the year, but I don’t think the wank exchange has changed much.” Zayn’s caught up in it, laughing far too hard when he gets to the end of it, Louis cracking up next to him. 

It takes a while before it’s quiet again, Louis shifting over and Zayn closing his eyes. He can hear the sounds of Louis packing a bowl, the snick of the lighter, the sweet bitter smell hitting him slowly.

“What I meant,” Louis’s voice is rough, and Zayn lifts his head to meet his bright eyes, “is you could go all out. Make more in one go.”

“All out like,” Zayn shifts his hips forward, like he’s fucking a bird.

“Well, something like that,” Louis shrugs, “you’d be the one getting it, though. Usually.”

“Oh.” Zayn thinks about it. In the near year he’s known Louis they’d never….Zayn’s grown to love a cheeky finger in his arse, never more than that. He’s seen it though, how greedy Louis gets for it sometimes, Zayn three fingers deep and Louis rocking down onto his hand. Zayn doesn’t know. He wants to ask Louis how much he does it, feels like maybe he’s not paying attention to the right things. 

Louis stares at him, the bowl gone cold between them. Zayn knows he’s kept quiet for too long.

“Forget I mentioned it,” he says, patting at Zayn’s thigh, “not everyone’s up for it.”

Zayn wants to ask a lot of things, like how much more, or how does it feel. He takes the lighter instead. 

&&&

“Louis, get your feet off of that!” Zayn hisses, poking at Louis’s foot where he’s just propped it up on the pile of books Zayn’s got on the floor. 

“They’re books, Z, think they can take it.” Louis moves anyway, can hear even with his eyes half closed that Zayn’s got a frown on his face. It’s not that Louis minds hanging out in the shit library during the day to pass time when it’s fucking freezing out, but he’s also counting down the days til it’s warm enough they can fuck about in the park, pick up a game of footie. Should be soon, Louis hopes. At least it’s warm inside. And it’s his own bloody fault anyway for taking Zayn for the afternoon just because it was his birthday, not realizing that a month later he’d still be there near fucking every day. 

“You got dirt on this one I’m trying to finish,” Zayn still sounds put out, “‘s about the first world war, I think? It’s proper interesting and all.”

“Wake me up when you’re done,” Louis tips his head back on the sofa, shifting for better leverage and hoping Zayn’ll stuff it about some crap book. At least this place has a room in the back, supposed to be for kids reading, with a shit sofa and carpets patterned with cartoons. 

“It’s about to close,” Zayn’s pushing at Louis’s shoulder then, “don’t fall asleep, Lou.”

“What? No.” Louis raises his head, looking out through the window. “Fucking hell, it’s raining again?”

“Yeah,” Zayn bites his lip. “Heard the librarian talking, said it’s not gonna stop all night. And do you have the mobile? I couldn’t find it when I was checking the time.”

“No, I--” Louis groans, “I left it in the van.”

“Well,” Zayn shrugs, “doesn’t much matter, I guess? We’ve only got a few minutes yet, then.”

“Hold up,” Louis suddenly dreads trekking back for a bloody half hour in the rain, knows that between the two of them they’ve not got enough with them for a taxi. “Follow me.”

“Where--” Zayn starts to say, Louis holding up a finger to his lips and grabbing Zayn’s forearm, to lead him to the back toward the staff loo. It’s not like they have proper security here, so it should be easy. 

“What’re we doing?” Zayn asks, when Louis’s closed the door. His eyes flick down to Louis’s dick, just brief, and Louis laughs, thrusting his hips forward just to see Zayn’s eyelids flutter. 

“Calm down,” Louis leans forward past Zayn’s shoulder, flicking off the light. In the sudden dark, Louis shivers when all he can feel is Zayn’s breath on his cheek. 

“What’re we doing?” Zayn asks again, this time his voice low. Louis takes a step forward to crowd Zayn up against the wall. Zayn holds himself still.

“Gonna stay here tonight, Zayn,” Louis noses along Zayn’s neck just to hear his breath catch. “But first, we gotta wait ‘em out. Can you be quiet?”

Zayn nods, his breath gone sharp when Louis steps away. 

**

“This was brilliant,” Zayn’s sprawled out on one of the carpets, the one with roads all over it. “It’s so fucking dry in here.”

Louis laughs, looking out the window at where it’s still lashing down. Every so often the library will blaze up in a flash of lightning, interrupting whatever shit conversation they’ve got on, starting over with something again when they come back to themselves. 

“We’d be a couple of drowned rats in the back of a shit van about now,” Louis leans far over the edge of the sofa, pulling at the end of Zayn’s hair until he yelps.

“Fuck off, Louis,” Zayn looks up at Louis with his head cocked off to the side, upside down from the floor. “It’s not a wig, it won’t come off.”

Louis leans over further, does it again. He laughs when Zayn reaches out, flailing wildly in his quest to punch Louis without moving.

“Remember when we first met and you nearly got into a strop because I said your hair was shit?”

Louis does remember. He remembers most of their conversations, but maybe that one most of all, just because it was first. 

“Am I meant to remember every shit thing you say?” Louis sniffs. “Doesn’t much sound like me, though.”

“No,” Zayn laughs, “not at all.”

It’s quiet then, and when Louis looks over Zayn’s staring up at the ceiling. Looks like he’s lost in his own thoughts. It makes Louis uneasy, if he’s being entirely honest.

“Dunno where I’d be,” Zayn says after a few minutes, “if you hadn’t kicked at me.”

“Dead, probably,” Louis tries to make a joke, feeling it fall flat even before he looks at how calm Zayn’s face looks.

“Thanks, is what I’m trying to say,” Zayn’s voice is so quiet it’s barely happening. “For that.”

“Well,” Louis bites at his lip. “Guess you haven’t been the worst.”

Zayn snorts. “Cheers, Lou.”

“Keep it up, Zayn, I’ll change my mind.”

“Fuck off.”

“You fuck off.”

“Huh.” Zayn’s moving again, a small sound. Louis closes his eyes, isn’t expecting it when Zayn’s fingers are brushing lightly against his forearm.

“Does it hurt?” Zayn asks quietly. “Getting fucked, I mean.”

“Zayn…” Louis trails off. Ever since the other day when he’d brought it up, he could tell that Zayn was lost in his head about it. Restless when they’d get off, distracted and being real shit at listening to Louis. 

“A cock’s different than just a finger, is all,” Zayn sounds tentative. His fingers are still on Louis’s arm, tracing slow patterns. 

“It can hurt,” Louis decides to go with the truth. “If you’re not ready. But it can feel bloody amazing.”

“So you like it?” Zayn still sounds like he’s working something out.

“Yeah, fuckface, I like it.” Louis can hear how his voice comes out, how Zayn’s hand drops. “Soz, it’s just,” Louis scrubs at his face with his hand, “when you’re doing it for money, like...it’s the same difference as anything else. Sometimes you don’t mind it, mostly it’s just what it is.”

Zayn sighs. “Yeah.”

Louis feels like he should be expecting it, but it still makes his mind blank out when Zayn speaks again.

“I think I want you to fuck me.”

**

“I feel like a bloody surgeon.” Louis looks up from where he’s dug out a condom and lube from his pockets, lying them out up near Zayn’s head. “Lining up my instruments.”

“Does that mean you’re gonna knock me out for this?” Zayn’s got a half smile on his face, sprawled out with his thumb hooked in the side of his pants, the rest of his kit in a pile with Louis’s on the floor. Sometimes, like right now in the shit dim moonlight, Zayn looks so fucking fit Louis could jump right out of his skin. 

“Shut the fuck up, I’m doing you a service.” Louis grins though, settling back on his heels between Zayn’s legs, Zayn still starfished out. He’s watching Louis with interest, like he’s expecting him to do...Louis’s not sure, but it feels like it’s more than Zayn asking him for a fuck. 

Zayn’s thumb dips lower, dragging his pants down further; Louis watches, circling his palm over the head of his cock, feels it fill up even more when he works himself over lazily. He flicks his thumb over the head, gathering up the precome there thanks to Zayn pushing his pants down the rest of the way over his half hard cock. 

“So,” Zayn gasps out when he cups himself, his knuckles working as he squeezes, “we just gonna stare at each other? My understanding of fucking is a bit off, in that case.”

“Just getting relaxed,” Louis lets go of his cock, dragging his fingers up the outside of Zayn’s thighs to get his pants off the rest of the way. “Now’s not the time to be impatient.”

“Not impatient, just, _fuck_ ,” Zayn goes a little cross-eyed when Louis holds himself over him, lowering until they’re tangled together. He rolls them a little, just so he can get his cock sliding along the ridge of Zayn’s. Zayn’s still not fully hard, and he feels like he’s strung tight, not easy in Louis’s arms like normal.

“You have to relax,” Louis says it quiet, reaches down between them to coax his hand over the head of Zayn’s cock, uses his thumb and middle finger to apply pressure like Zayn likes. Zayn gasps, cock filling up more finally, but he’s still holding himself off, his breath uneven and harsh. At this rate, Louis won’t even be able to get a finger in him, let alone his cock. He feels like he did at the beginning of it all, back when he had to gentle Zayn through everything.

“Zayn,” Louis says, and when he tips his head up Zayn’s _right there_ , so close that when he licks his lips, the tip of his tongue flicks out over Louis’s chin. 

“Soz, Louis,” Zayn sounds frustrated, and Louis leans forward to close the distance between them, kissing Zayn at the same time he pushes his thumb against Zayn’s slit, swallowing the noise Zayn makes.

It’s a lazy snog, Zayn a better kisser than Louis would have guessed, even, from his limited experience of half snogs and shotguns and passing come between them; and that probably would have been pretty glowing, if he’d thought about it too much, if he let himself think about it at all. Zayn’s not careful, either, pulling back to bite at Louis’s lip, suck on Louis’s tongue. 

And he’s finally bloody relaxed now, cock hard and leaking precome all over Louis’s hand. Louis pulls back from Zayn’s mouth, Zayn chasing him up and lifting nearly clear off the floor, licking a long stripe along Louis’s jaw. 

“Fucking hell,” Louis rolls to pin Zayn down a bit with his weight, bringing up the hand he’s been wanking him with. He spits on his fingers, figures he can start there. He rubs his thumb over the spit, spreading it down, testing to see if he thinks it’ll be enough slick. He glances up at Zayn as he does, Zayn’s eyes dark and wide. They keep flicking over to Louis’s hand and then back at his face, his mouth. 

“Here,” Zayn grips Louis’s wrist, pulling it toward his mouth. He opens it then, turns his head and lets his own spit drop onto Louis’s waiting fingers, “that enough?”

“That’s,” Louis clears his throat, Zayn not reacting to how Louis’s voice had cracked. “Yeah, that should be good.”

He sits back a bit, shuffling around so he can get his fingers down between Zayn’s spread open legs before he leans down to snog him again, figures that’s for the best. It’d be a better angle, he knows, if he got Zayn down on all fours with his arse up in the air, but he doesn’t think that’ll keep Zayn loose like this, relaxed with his eyes tracking everything. He’ll just have to make sure he’s good for it. Really good.

Zayn’s still snogging him slow when he rubs his fingers in a circle over his hole, dipping just the tip of one inside like it’s any other time, then just the tips of two, just to give him the initial feeling of that burning stretch. Zayn does pause then, breathing gone quick against Louis’s lips. 

“It’s alright,” Louis pulls back, can’t help laughing, can’t look at Zayn’s face. “Listen, I can just -- I can just suck you off. For fuck’s sake.”

“No, I--” Zayn ghosts his fingers over Louis’s cheek, forcing him to face him, his eyes fucking big as saucers, “I want you to. I’m good.”

“Okay,” Louis takes him up on it then, working one finger in to the knuckle and making Zayn’s eyes close up tight as he thrusts it in and out a couple of times. “Be easier, if I can get your prick in my mouth? You’ll relax up.”

“No, I’m good, like,” Zayn’s babbling, pulling at Louis until his lips are pushing against the dip of Louis’s chin, “just do it this way, yeah?”

The snogging’s making Louis’s head spin, if he felt like being honest with himself. But he doesn’t, so he focuses instead on Zayn’s breathing as he works him up to two fingers, then three, Zayn babbling nonsense when Louis has to take a break to get the lube just to make sure. 

“Cold,” Zayn murmurs, as Louis watches his fingers work in and out of Zayn. “Lou,” his voice is low, “‘m close.”

“It might be good if you come before,” Louis laughs, “know you’re pretty quick to go again.”

“No,” Zayn shakes his head, “no. Now.”

“Right.” Louis pulls his fingers out, feeling bloody shaky when he reaches for the condom, tearing open the package with his teeth and taking a deep breath. He’s doing this for Zayn, so Zayn can make a few more quid if he’s in the mood. It’ll just be one more thing they do together.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Zayn groans when Louis pushes the head of his cock against his hole, Zayn tensing up once before Louis leans down and kisses the side of his mouth, finally fucking relaxing and letting him in. It’s bloody tight, the clutch of Zayn’s arse maybe the hottest slide Louis’s ever felt. “Ah, ah, ah.” 

Zayn goes completely silent when Louis’s all the way in, fully settled in the cradle of Zayn’s skinny hips. Louis keeps his head turned so he can’t see Zayn’s face. He can guess how it looks. 

“Alright?” Louis asks. It feels like ages before Zayn’s nails rake down Louis’s back, clutching at the slope of his arse.

“Fuck, Louis,” Zayn whispers, “fuck me.”

Louis starts slow, pulling almost all the way back out before sliding in as careful as he can make himself go. Zayn stays silent, Louis not sure he’s ever been that way when they’re together, even if he’s just tossing him off quick before they go out to take the edge down. It’s always soft little groans, like, makes Louis feel like he’s working toward something. This. Louis feels boneless already as he fucks into Zayn a little harder, and he hasn’t even bloody come yet. The head of Zayn’s cock is rubbing up at Louis’s stomach whenever he fucks down, and when Louis finally reaches to take it in hand he dares a look at Zayn’s face. 

Zayn’s got his eyes closed, head tipping back in rhythm with Louis’s thrusts. He’s bitten his lip so hard there’s blood smeared down over his mouth, a little showing red on the white of his teeth. _Fuck_.

“Zayn,” Louis doesn’t bloody care for a moment how wrecked his voice sounds when he braces his weight on one hand, letting go of Zayn’s cock to rub at the blood on his lip. “Zayn.” The shift in his weight must change the angle, because Zayn’s eyes fly open, meeting his and looking wild.

“Louis,” he groans, “do that again, fuck, just there.”

Louis does. He makes it bloody fucking amazing for Zayn, hopes Zayn bites his lip clean off when he takes Zayn’s cock in his hand again, flicking his wrist three times before Zayn’s coming between them, shooting come clear up to his own neck and groaning out Louis’s name over and over.

“I gotta,” Louis murmurs, knows that Zayn’s gonna come down any second and he’ll really feel it too much, plants his hands on either side of Zayn’s head and thrusts into him hard, once, twice, a third time so deep he can feel how it pushes all the air out of Zayn’s lungs, going still and twitchy when --

Zayn pulls him down by his neck, snogging him lazily at the same time he comes.

“Louis,” Zayn whispers as his fingers trail down Louis’s back, turning his head. “ _Louis_.”

It’s just his fucking name, but it feels like a brand new word to Louis. Like Zayn made it up in his own language.

**

Zayn’s snoring next to him lightly, just in his pants. There’s still a spot of his own come on his neck, pronounced in the slanting moonlight.

Louis can’t sleep. He can’t. Can’t get out of his own head. Like everything in him’s shaken up, loose and wobbly. 

He stands up quietly, already dressed and stepping around Zayn carefully so as not to wake him. They’d already decided to sneak out the window in the staff loo. Before.

The window’s old and creaky, but doesn’t give him too much trouble when he boosts himself up, not a bad drop to the ground. It’s soft anyway, mud from the rain ruining his trainers and all. Least it’s mostly slowed to a drizzle.

He runs anyway, out of breath and red faced by the time he’s knocking on the door. He knows it’s a Friday, knows it’s barely middle of the night. 

“Lou?” El opens the door still dressed from wherever she was out, lipstick smudged slightly and black under her eyes. “Christ, you look like shit.”

“What do you got?” Louis gasps out, his chest gone tight with how much he needs it. “Anything, El.”

El stares at him for a second before nodding. “C’mon in, I’ve got some options.”

Louis follows her inside. Hopes she won’t ask any questions.


	2. the knives in the kitchen are singing for blood

Before he’s fully awake, when all he can register is the chill in the air and the crick in his neck, Zayn curses himself. He swears today’ll be the day he gets his shit together, finds a job and scrapes together enough cash to stop sleeping on bloody park benches.

The thought disappears as reality filters in and he reminds himself he’s fine. He hasn’t slept outdoors in nearly a year. 

“Fuuuuuuck,” he breathes out, stretching, his brain finally catching up. Louis. The library. The unfamiliar ache, “shit, feel like --”

He stops when he realizes Louis isn’t squished next to him anymore. He pushes up a bit, looking around. There’s just enough light to make menacing shadows of everything. 

“Very funny, Louis,” Zayn says. “You can come out now.”

The silence of the library makes him feel small. He shivers, reaching for his hoodie. His jeans are still in a damp pile on the floor, but all of Louis’s clothes are gone. 

“Lou?” He hates that his voice cracks, knows that any second now Louis is going to jump out of the stacks laughing. He’ll never hear the end of it. “Louis?”

He holds his breath, waiting.

**

He sits there like an arse, waiting until it’s nearly too late, until it’s bolt or get caught. He still expects to jump out the window and find Louis crouched on the other side, shit-eating grin on his face.

“What the _fuck_?” he yells, his voice shattering the early morning quiet. Zayn has never hated this time of day more, not even when he was fucking homeless, not even when he’s only just starting the trek back from some bloke’s Range Rover.

He curses Louis out the whole way home, doesn’t care that he probably looks like a nutter. As far as pranks go, this one is shit. The wind bites at his face, Zayn blinking furiously, willing himself to walk faster, not to think of Louis braced over him, how he’d held himself so fucking carefully at first, more careful than Zayn’s ever known him to be. Works out where he’ll punch Louis when he sees him instead. The stomach, probably, though Louis will probably just deflect it. Fucker.

Zayn can hear the phone ringing as he gets closer, tinny through the walls of the van. He hurries to throw the door open, digging through the mess of clothes and blankets. It’s gone silent again by the time he finds it in the pocket of Louis’s joggers, a lone _beep_ indicating they’ve got a voicemail. 

He chews on his nail as he calls in, his stupid heart kicking up as the robot lady says there’s one new message. Zayn’s going to punch Louis right in the dick as soon as he finds out where he’s meant to meet him.

“Hi, lads!” Liam says, so fucking chipper for arse o’clock in the morning. Zayn doesn’t bother listening to the rest. 

**

The phone buzzes again, mid-morning. 

_getting brekkie now u guys shd meet meeeeeeeee_

Zayn deletes it instead of responding. He doesn’t know why Liam’s chosen now to come crawling back out of the woodwork. Nothing makes any fucking sense at all. He feels numb a bit, watching the hours tick by, twelve then one then two, still no sign of Louis. 

He’s fine, Zayn tells himself, ignoring the way his hands shake as he packs a bowl. He’s so tired. He’ll smoke and sleep and Louis’ll probably kick him awake again, grinning like the bloody twat that he is. 

**

“Fucking shitting cunt.”

“Louis?” Zayn struggles to sit up, his limbs uncoordinated with how dead asleep he’d been. 

“Sorry.” Louis doesn’t look up from where he’s crouched, picking things out of the blankets. His stash, Zayn realizes. He must’ve upended it somehow. Probably couldn’t see anything in the dark. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

Again, Zayn thinks bitterly, feeling it like a physical ache. It’s fucking ridiculous. He reaches out, punching Louis in the leg. It helps, a little, especially when Louis scowls.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Zayn’s angry but he mostly sounds tired. It feels like the middle of the bloody night, even though the clock says it’s only seven.

“Out.” Louis finishes picking his pills up. He stuffs a few notes into the bottom of his box. “Working.”

“All day?” Zayn hates how skeptical he sounds. Hates how Louis snorts even more.

“Why,” he looks up with a gleam in his eye, a dangerous edge in his tone, “did you miss me?”

Zayn doesn’t trust his voice. He thinks he might hesitate a second too long before rolling his eyes, reaching out to punch Louis again, harder this time. Hard enough that Louis grunts and grabs at his thigh.

“Motherfucker,” he breathes out, laughing as he flips Zayn off. He sounds a bit hysterical, Zayn realizes.

“Louis,” he starts, Louis looking up, wild-eyed and breathless. Even in the darkness Zayn recognizes the signs. He’s seen Louis rolling enough to know. He shakes his head. “Just. Come to bed, yeah?”

He lifts the edge of the blanket, Louis staring at him like he doesn’t understand. 

“Need water,” he shakes his head, digging under the bench seat until he finds some, “then I will. Alright?”

“Whatevs,” Zayn says, suddenly exhausted again. Louis rests his water bottle on Zayn’s shin. It’s cold even through all the blankets. Zayn doesn’t bother telling him to get it the fuck off. He likes the steady pressure.

**

“Oi,” Louis shakes him awake. “You coming? It’s nearly half ten.”

He’s holding one of Zayn’s beanies in one hand, a spliff in the other. Zayn scrubs a hand over his face before taking both. 

“Cheers,” he says as they climb out of the van. Everything’s still wet from the storm. It’s mental; feels like it was longer ago than yesterday.

Louis shrugs, dribbling a stone like a football as they walk. “You said you were low on funds.”

**

Louis is already there when Zayn gets back, leaned against the side of the van, smoking. It’s a relief. Zayn finds himself jogging the last few steps.

“Someone’s had a good night.”

“Think it’s about to get better, actually.” Zayn steals the cig right out from between Louis’s lips, takes a drag and then drops it, crushing it out under his heel.

“I wasn’t done with that!”

Zayn rolls his eyes at Louis’s annoyance. He pats Louis’s hip, his stomach muscles going tense when Zayn lets his fingers trail along his waistband. After a second Louis twists out of Zayn’s grip.

“Get in the van.” 

Zayn’s face goes warm, his cock twitching like it does whenever Louis uses that voice. He fumbles with the door, his hand slipping when he first tries to slide it open. He laughs at himself, expecting Louis to laugh with him, but it’s quiet. Weirdly so.

“Lou,” Zayn reaches back for Louis’s hand. It seems to startle him.

“Right. C’mon, then.” Louis is quick when he wants to be, has Zayn on the bench seat in seconds, Louis straddling his legs, making quick work of his flies. “What do you want?”

He cups Zayn’s cock through his pants as he asks, smiling at how he’s got Zayn half hard from almost nothing. He squeezes a touch too hard. “I asked you a question.” 

Zayn can’t remember the last time Louis asked him how he wanted to get off. Can’t remember if it’s ever happened. Well. His closes his eyes against the memory, doesn’t want to relive the embarrassment of asking Louis to fuck him, even if it all had worked out alright in the end.

“I --” Zayn honestly can’t decide, can’t think about anything except how it’d felt when Louis was finally, finally inside him, the pain of it all turning into something else entirely. He needs a minute, especially when Louis gets Zayn’s cock out, presses his thumb against the slit in that way that always makes Zayn’s brain go offline for a moment. 

“Relax,” Louis says, sounding off, like maybe he’s the one who needs to relax. Without thinking Zayn leans up, their noses brushing when he closes the gap between them.

“Zayn.” Louis shifts slightly, stopping Zayn with a hand on his chest. He moves it just enough that his hand is on Zayn’s throat, his thumb over his pulse point. “What do you want?” 

Zayn wishes his heart wasn’t beating so wildly. He knows Louis can tell. Only when he opens his eyes again, he’s not so sure. Louis is looking just past him, his eyes distant, unfocused. It’s almost like he’s barely paying attention. Like tossing Zayn off has become second nature.

He shifts his weight, trying to unseat Louis, but all he succeeds in doing is bucking up into Louis’s grip.

“Yeah,” Louis says, adding a flick of his wrist, his mouth forming something that could almost be a smile when Zayn bites down on a groan, “that’s it. C’mon, tell me what you want. Anything.”

It’s the same thing Zayn’s heard Louis say to blokes in alleys, the same words, the same dull whisper. Zayn’s heard it before, yeah, but never directed at him. It sounds so fake. Detached.

“Louis,” he tries to say, only it comes out wobbly, garbled. Louis barely reacts, humming like Zayn’s working him over too, even though Zayn’s not touched him at all. Even though Zayn can see from here that Louis is barely hard. Fuck. What the fuck.

“You like that?” he asks, like Zayn’s just some bloke who flagged him down. 

“Louis, what the FUCK?” It’s loud enough to shake Louis out of his daze and Zayn thinks -- hopes -- that it’ll shake him back to himself, that he’ll make some shit excuse and they’ll laugh about it for the rest of the night, but it doesn’t. If anything, he looks even more shuttered after, his face gone completely impassive. 

His hands feel cold all of a sudden. Every part of Zayn feels fucking freezing as he shoves Louis away, hard. 

“Get the fuck away from me,” he says, watching Louis fall onto the floor. It’s like it’s happening to someone else. Like a horrible film. Like a nightmare. He’s so angry he’s shaking. He doesn’t know when it started.

Louis calmly wipes his hand on his jeans. “Fine.”

He slips out of the van like it’s nothing. Like Zayn’s nothing. 

“And STAY away!” Zayn yells after him.

Louis keeps walking. He never looks back.

**

He hadn’t meant it.

One day rolls into the next into the next. Zayn smokes out the van until he can’t see straight, until the only thing he can remember is the hot press of Louis’s cock inside him, how overwhelming it had felt to have Louis touching him, talking him through it. His brain fucks with him, distorts everything, until every memory has Louis using that horrible, dull whisper he’d used after. Zayn bites through his lip, reopening the same old cut. Then he roots through Louis’s stash, takes one of his sleeping pills to forget it all.

It doesn’t work. 

He’s got a tenner to his name and hardly any weed left. The only missed calls are from Liam. When Zayn hurls the phone across the van it doesn’t even give him the satisfaction of breaking. It feels like a sign.

He goes rooting through their things, careful to choose stuff he knows is his. A t-shirt Louis’s never nicked. Jeans that were too tight for Louis to squeeze into. He runs his hand through his quiff, knowing he probably looks a wreck. It’s fine, he figures. There’s always someone just looking to get off. 

It’s not like it matters anyway. He only needs enough to get by.

**

Zayn’s in the middle of sealing a deal when his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. He shifts, annoyed by the disturbance.

“What’s wrong?” The guy has Prada sunglasses hooked into his collar; Zayn knows he can get a halfway decent tip if he puts in the effort. He can’t really afford not to.

“Nothing,” he says, reaching into his pocket to thumb the ringer off, switch it all the way to silent. He tilts his head down as he does it, just enough to look up at the guy through his lashes. 

“C’mon, this way.” He touches the guy’s wrist, just a brush of his fingertips, and trusts he’ll follow. They always do.

**

He rolls another spliff when he gets back. He pocketed almost twice as much as normal and still feels jittery, even once he’s curled up in the van in the dead quiet, the air thick with smoke. It didn’t used to be like this. The afters were better, before… Zayn stops himself from thinking about anything specific. They were just better before. 

The phone lights up, jarring in the dark. He watches it for a moment, the way the screen blinks. He’s slow getting to it, misses the call entirely. It’s only when he’s checking the log that he remembers someone had called earlier, while he was out.

And then kept calling, it would seem, because there are ten calls and they’re all from Liam.

“Zayn?” Liam answers almost immediately, like he was waiting for it. He probably was, Zayn realizes. Fucking ridiculous. It’s like he fancies himself a babysitter, or a white knight, or whatever, just waiting to save the day. Offering jobs and jumpers and fuck all, waiting for Zayn to swoon, to fall at his feet in gratitude, when all Zayn wants is for him to fuck off. Louis had no problem telling him that, like he didn’t notice the way Liam’s eyes would go all sad and puppy-like. Or maybe he did and he just didn’t care. Seems about right.

Zayn picks at rip in the flooring, underneath all the blankets. It’s a bigger one, pulled up enough that it shows the metal frame underneath. It’s been there longer than Zayn has. “Dunno. Makes for a good finger hold, though,” Lou had said when Zayn’d asked, and he’d winked and then laughed. His teeth had been sharp against Zayn’s neck. 

“Hello?” 

Zayn blinks. He’d forgotten Liam was on the phone at all. 

“Are you -- is everything --” Liam’s voice is quiet and concerned. It makes Zayn remember Louis; he hates Liam for it.

“Stop.”

“What?”

“Stop calling me. You need to stop calling me.” Zayn stops pulling at the carpet and moves to the other side of the van. The air feels colder here. It’s better. Zayn covers the rip with his feet. He’s careful to enunciate when he says, “Stop.”

“Zayn --”

“Just leave me the fuck alone, Liam!” He doesn’t know when he started yelling, but he can’t seem to stop. “You don’t know your fucking place! Just stay the fuck away from me.”

“I don’t --” Liam starts to say, but Zayn doesn’t fucking care. He rings off and, when Liam calls back, he just lets it ring. All Zayn wants to do is sleep, but he’s still too jittery. It seems like nothing he does helps. 

He curls into a ball and watches the sky go gray in anticipation of the sunrise. He doesn’t let himself wonder if today will be the day Louis comes back.

&&&

Liam spends the entire day replaying his and Zayn’s fight -- can he call it that? It was mostly Zayn yelling and Liam listening in stunned silence, but that’s still a fight, right? It feels like it was a fight. Liam can’t stop thinking about it, the pure anger in Zayn’s voice. He pushes his half-eaten bowl of noodles away; they taste gummy now.

At least he’s okay, Liam tells himself. It’d been so long since he’d had that talk with Zayn. Well. Now Liam knows they’re doing alright. 

Except… except it really doesn’t seem like they are. Or, at least, it doesn’t seem like _Zayn_ is. He’d sounded right wrecked before he’d started yelling, and yeah, Liam knows how it is, how he gets through things but. It just seemed different, off, somehow, and maybe that’s why Liam’s felt unsettled ever since.

He sighs and sticks his bowl in the fridge for later. When he checks his phone, there are no new calls. He tries them once more, just for the hell of it. The mailbox is full. Liam suspects all the messages are his.

**

Maybe it’s stupid, sure, but it’s not like he even intended to do it in the first place. He was already out, running errands, on his way home for a nice night in for once, and he happened to be in the neighborhood and he figured what the hell. At least this way he can see if things really are alright with his own two eyes. That no one’s contracted that Nicole Kidman hooker disease and is like, coughing blood into a serviette or whatever.

It’s probably luck that has Zayn sidling up to his car window first, leaning his forearms through the window, his body all loose and inviting. It’s weird, Liam thinks, being on this end of it.

“See anything you -- “ he starts before he actually looks at Liam and stops. His face goes closed off immediately, like blackout shutters in a window, and he says, “No.”

He looks like shit, worse off than the last time Liam saw him, like he hasn’t been sleeping or eating since. His eyes are glassy. Liam doesn’t like seeing him like this. For a moment he wishes he’d never come. He curls both hands around the steering wheel and squeezes.

“I tried calling you,” he says.

“No.” Zayn’s voice hard and angry, just like it had been on the phone last night. 

Liam reaches for his hand unthinkingly, rolls his eyes when Zayn flinches away. This is ridiculous.

“Christ’s sake, Zayn.” It comes out louder than he intended, loud enough that Zayn flinches and looks over his shoulder. Liam expects him to walk away and he really doesn’t want to have to chase him down the street but he might do, if it comes down to it. He’s not sure what he’d do once he caught him, but he’d do it.

Only Zayn doesn’t leave. He opens the door and slides into the passenger seat, arms folded over his chest. 

“Well?” he says after a minute, when Liam’s still staring at him, sort of stunned and confused. Zayn flings one arm forward, his movements tight with hostility. “Drive.”

They’re barely a few streets away before Zayn’s shifting in his seat.

“So what,” he asks, that same awful edge in his voice, “you want me to like, blow you? Is that it?”

Liam’s mouth falls open and his brain goes blank. He’s too shocked and insulted by how lowly Zayn thinks of him to do anything but gape at Zayn. The car behind him beeps and Liam blinks, notices the light’s green now. He keeps driving, more on autopilot than anything else. 

It takes more than a few minutes for Liam not to feel like his lunch is going to come back up when he speaks. He switches the radio off first. Zayn has one hand on the door handle like he’s ready to jump out and Liam doesn’t know what to do. He kind of wants to hit Zayn. He kind of wants to cry.

“What -- is that what you think of me, Zayn?” he asks, fully aware that his voice sounds raw and pathetic. 

“I don’t -- I don’t know.” Zayn takes a shuddery breath; he sounds exhausted, like all the wind’s gone out of his sails. When Liam chances a glance over, he’s got his forehead against the window like he can’t bear to look at Liam. He looks small, not like the person Liam’s used to. It’s upsetting. Liam wishes he could reach over and pat his shoulder, squeeze his knee, something, anything. He keeps driving instead, eyes on the road, two kilometers under the speed limit the whole way.

**

“What the fuck? Where are we?” Zayn’s halfway out of the car before he realizes Liam’s not driven him back to the van.

Liam’s a bit surprised, too. He’d not been paying attention and ended up here and now, well. Sod it. It’s late and he’s hungry.

“Canada Water. I, uh, I live here,” he says. Zayn blinks. “At least come up for dinner, yeah?”

Liam taps nervously on the steering wheel while Zayn thinks. After a moment Liam winces and says, “Just dinner, I swear.”

Zayn laughs, low and quiet. “Yeah, alright,” he says, and follows Liam into the building.

&&&

Zayn doesn’t intend to stay. Just long enough to eat something. Long enough to get Liam off his back.

Only Liam keeps shooting him these sad looks, staring at him when he thinks Zayn isn’t paying attention, and it keeps making Zayn think of Liam’s face in the car, how he’d looked like Zayn’d reached over and slapped him. Zayn should’ve done that instead, he thinks. Liam’d probably get over it faster, stop treating Zayn like he’s made of candy glass, like he’s worried Zayn’s going to go off on him again. It’s great for making Zayn feel like a cunt.

“Is it okay?” Liam asks. “Do you want more? I’m not the best cook, I’d’ve gotten takeaway if I’d known but.” He trails off, shrugging.

“It’s fine,” Zayn says. It comes out harsher than he means, and he probably shouldn’t be nice to Liam because it’s like, encouraging this kind of behavior, but there’s something about Liam’s face that makes it hard to be mean to him. Zayn coughs. “I mean, it’s good. Thanks.”

He forces himself to smile. Liam smiles back full force, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. Zayn tucks into his spag bol so he doesn’t have to see it.

**

“You don’t have to stay there, the sofa is much more comfortable.” Liam sets another plate on the dish drainer. “Go on, see if there’s anything good on the telly.”

Zayn really should leave. He opens his mouth to say as much but Liam beats him to it. 

“Seriously, guests don’t have to do the washing up. Go, I’m almost done anyway.” He punctuates it with a little push at Zayn’s side. “Remote’s on the coffee table.”

Zayn tries not to snort. Coffee table. That’s what he and Louis used to call the cupholders in the center console, back in the beginning. Not that Liam’s coffee table is anything fancy, it’s just. It’s a lot better than what Zayn’s got.

“I think _The Dark Knight_ is still in the DVD player,” Liam calls after him and then he’s right there, settling on the opposite end of the couch and flipping the TV on. “Do you want a drink or anything?”

“No, uh, I’m good. Thanks.” Zayn scrubs his hands on his jeans. He wishes he had something, a spliff or a cigarette or fuck, even those pills Lou’s gotten so fond of, anything to take the edge off. Liam’s sprawled out but still somehow only on his half of the room, like he doesn’t want to encroach on Zayn’s space. Zayn tucks himself further into the corner, until the armrest is digging into his side. He should go, really. After the film, he tells himself.

**

The next thing Zayn knows, sunlight’s streaming through the window and right into his eyes. He’s thrown for a minute, can’t remember if Louis ever made it back, but then oh. Right. Shit.

He pushes himself upright. Liam’d covered him with an afghan at some point, the thick homemade kind. Zayn shoves it to the side. He needs to go.

The front door opens. Zayn tenses automatically but it’s only Liam.

“Oh, you’re awake.” He smiles like he’s genuinely happy to see Zayn still sitting on his couch. 

“Yeah, I’ll --” Zayn motions to the door but Liam’s not listening. 

“Sorry if we woke you,” he says as he bends down to unhook a dog leash. The dog trots over to where Zayn’s sat and sniffs at him. Zayn holds out his hand and tries not to look too surprised. It’s not like Liam’s got to tell him everything.

“He yours?” He scritches the dog’s head, smiles reflexively when the dog relaxes into it.

“Yeah. Didn’t know if you liked dogs so I figured I’d keep him in my room until after the film but then you conked out so you never got to meet him proper. Well, till now, I guess. He’s called Loki.”

Loki looks up at his name and Zayn does too, finds Liam watching them with a dumb smile on his face. Right. He stands up.

“Thanks. I’ll just --”

“Could shower first, if you want,” Liam says, before Zayn’s taken two steps to the door. He shrugs. “Don’t have to, just thought. I don’t know, never mind.”

Zayn can’t remember the last time he had a shower that was longer than two minutes, where Louis wasn’t pulling back the curtain to pelt him with wet paper towels while El yelled nonsense in the background. A real shower sounds amazing; Zayn says as much.

“Yeah?” Liam’s eyes go all happy and crinkly again. Zayn looks at Loki instead.

**

Zayn probably takes too long but standing there with the hot water beating down on his shoulders, he finds it hard to care. Liam’s got toast and tea waiting for him when he gets out and it’s easy, then, to sit down on the sofa and watch TV while they eat. 

Liam doesn’t say much at all, which Zayn appreciates. 

Zayn finds an old _Spider-Man_ comic on the floor, under the afghan he’d shoved aside earlier. He flips through it for a while, acutely aware of the way Liam’s reading over his shoulder and trying to act like he’s not. Zayn shifts in his seat and Liam’s right there, close enough for Zayn to feel his startled exhalation.

“Sorry.” Liam moves back, putting a whole load of space between them and turning the volume on the TV up. Zayn keeps reading. It’s not a bad way to spend an afternoon. Beats a lot of Saturdays he’s had lately.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but Liam’s flat is warm and that’s all it takes, really. The sun is lower when he wakes up, the program they’d been watching earlier long over. Liam’s in the kitchen, humming to himself. Zayn watches him work, half expects to find him in an apron when he turns around. He’s not, though, and he doesn’t ever look over at Zayn, just keeps moving about, doubling back and forth across the room every time he forgets something, stepping calmly over Loki on each pass. Zayn falls back asleep watching him, like he’s being hypnotised. 

He wakes up when the couch shifts, Liam settling in at the opposite end, the soft sounds of Loki settling at his feet. Liam turns the television down and they all just sit there quietly, half watching an old episode of Friends. It’s nice, actually. Zayn likes the quiet. The way Loki rests his head against Zayn’s instep. The way Liam’s flat starts to smell like dinner, like the way a home should smell. It’s a lot all at once; Zayn closes his eyes against it, reminds himself of the rip in the van carpeting, the way everything in there smells like cologne and stale smoke, the feel of crumpled McDonald’s bags under his feet.

“Zayn.” Liam’s voice is pitched low and cautious. When Zayn opens his eyes, Liam’s hand is hovering just above his knee.

“Yeah?”

Liam takes his hand back, scrubs it over his head. “Sorry. I made dinner, if you want some. It’s not -- just chicken and veg and rice, it’s not much.”

Zayn blinks. Liam’s mouth ticks up, a shy smile. “Sure.” He follows Liam into the kitchen.

They end up eating on the sofa, much less formal than last night when they’d sat at Liam’s cramped table. “s good,” Zayn says after a bit. 

“Yeah?” 

Zayn nods and Liam laughs quietly to himself. 

“One time my sister tried to make it when she was stuck babysitting me only I guess she got distracted, talking on the phone with her boyfriend or something, because she somehow left,” Liam’s laughing now, tripping over his words, “she left a pot holder in the oven, like, in the pan? Just right on top of the chicken so it ended up sort of cooked into it. Roo made me eat it, too, because there wasn’t anything else and she didn’t want Mum yelling at her for sending me to bed hungry.” He shakes his head, still laughing a little. “Chicken with bits of yarn in it.”

“Yarny chicken,” Zayn says, making a face.

Liam bursts out laughing. “S’what we called it!”

“Once,” Zayn starts to say, thinking about all the times his older sister forced him to sit at the kitchen table so she could serve him curry when they were little. It was always just water and spices from the rack on the counter and one horrible time, milk that she microwaved until it curdled. He’d cried while she forced him to eat it. His whole family’d teased him about it for years, that he actually sat there and ate it until their mum found them and pulled the bowl away. She’d wiped his tears and poured him juice while Doniya’d made faces behind her back. It’s stupid, how remembering it actually hurts.

“Once Louis dared me to eat a mothball,” he says instead.

“Those’re poison!”

“I didn’t _do_ it, obviously.” Zayn rolls his eyes. 

“Where is Louis anyway?” Liam asks. Zayn feels all his muscles go tight.

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “Around.”

Liam watches him for a minute like he’s expecting a better answer. Zayn pushes some of the leftover rice around his plate. He shrugs again. “Haven’t seen him in a few days, is all.”

“Zayn --”

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

“You should’ve said,” Liam says. 

“Said what?” Zayn’s louder than he intends, but Liam sounds upset and it’s a bloody stupid thing to be upset about. “He’s fine, alright?”

“Okay.” Liam nods after a beat. Zayn very carefully doesn’t look at him. Eventually Liam turns the volume up again and Zayn focuses on the TV, laughs a beat behind the canned audience laughter.

**

It only takes a couple minutes of watching TV while Liam does the washing up before Zayn starts to feel guilty on top of everything else. He _has_ spent a bit of time on his arse, taking up space on Liam’s sofa, eating Liam’s food and cuddling his dog. 

“Hey,” he says. Liam turns quickly, startled. Zayn tries not to wince; he supposes it’s been a while since he said anything. Shit. The guilt flares brighter. He coughs. “Let me, uh, I can help?”

Liam shakes his head. “You don’t have to.”

“Liam.” It’s fucking frustrating, trying to navigate this shit. At least with Louis, Zayn knows where they stand. Used to know. Whatever. He sighs. “I’ve been eating all your food, at least let me dry some dishes.”

“Alright.” Liam shrugs, ever-agreeable, and hands Zayn a dishcloth before he goes back to the plates in the sink. He hums to himself while he works, lost in his own world while Zayn slowly dries the things as they’re cleaned. The quiet repetition is strangely soothing; Zayn feels some of the tension draining out of his shoulders as he works.

“I don’t mind,” Liam says eventually, and then, quickly, like he’s trying to distract Zayn from parsing what he means, “Do you want dessert? I think I’ve some Twisters in the freezer.”

“Yeah?”

Liam grins and abandons the remaining pots in the sink to root around in the freezer. When he finds them, he gives a small cheer and Zayn finds himself smiling back reflexively. He’s not had Twisters in ages.

**

“You can stay again tonight, you know,” Liam says, much later. When Zayn looks over, Liam’s watching the TV. Zayn watches him for a minute, the tilt of his head, the relaxed slope of his shoulders. _I don’t mind_ echoes in Zayn’s mind, but he’s too sluggish to analyze it now, too full and sleepy and still a little giddy from the surprise of the ice creams, the dull thrum of happiness stretching out through his limbs. 

He sinks lower in his seat, idly scratches Loki’s neck, his fingers curling into his scruff, and thinks it might be contagious, Liam’s easy sprawl, the calming way he has.

“Okay,” he says, and watches a smile spread slowly across Liam’s face.

**

The easy calm fades once Liam disappears to bed and by half two Zayn’s resigned to not sleeping. He rolls off the sofa, trying to be as quiet as possible as he pads over to the window and cracks it open so he can smoke, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of Liam’s neighborhood as he waits for the nicotine to soothe his nerves. It doesn’t work. He lies back down but the sofa is uncomfortable now; Zayn keeps sinking into the cracks between the cushions and there’s a spring he can’t seem to stop from digging into his ribs no matter how he lies. Everything is too quiet, foreign. 

He’s tired, is the thing. He thinks about leaving -- maybe Louis’ll be back by now, and Zayn can curl up next to him and finally get some rest. Only Zayn knows Lou’s probably not back. It’d just be more tossing and turning. Same shit, different surface.

Next best thing, he thinks, and slips across the room. He knocks softly against Liam’s door before pushing it open. Loki and Liam sit up at the same time.

“Zayn? Y’okay?” Liam watches, bleary-eyed, as Zayn lifts the corner of his duvet and slips in. “What? Zayn, are you --”

“I’m okay,” Zayn breathes out. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I couldn’t sleep. Can I just…” He trails off.

“Yeah,” Liam says, shifting, putting even more space between them. Zayn doesn’t know whether to be insulted or relieved. “Yeah, ‘course. Stay.”

At the foot of the bed, Loki turns in a circle three times. Zayn’s asleep before he’s fully settled.

**

He dimly registers Liam rolling away, the sudden whoosh of cold air as the covers lift. 

“Stay, it’s fine,” Liam says, his hand warm and solid in the middle of Zayn’s back. Zayn lets sleep pull him back under.

**

When he wakes up again, he’s alone. He rolls into the middle and stretches his arms as far as they’ll go, until his fingertips are hanging off the bed. Liam’s sheets are soft and worn.

“Oi, lazybones, get out of bed or I’ll eat your breakfast, too.”

Zayn turns to where Liam’s watching from the doorway. He tamps down the weird feeling swelling in his stomach before it can turn into another ache in his chest. “You wouldn’t.”

Liam just laughs and disappears so that Zayn has to follow him to the kitchen. Liam puts the kettle on and pulls plates down from a cabinet, hands them to Zayn to put on the table. 

“I bought muffins after my run,” he says. “Figured we could have them with jam? It‘s what we always had on Sundays growing up.” 

He looks at Zayn expectantly, like he’s waiting to hear what Zayn ate on weekends as a kid. It’s such a small thing but it still knocks the breath out of Zayn’s lungs. He and Louis don't ever talk about before, what their lives used to be like, what they had then that they don’t anymore. But with Liam it's all right there, under the surface, waiting to come back. It makes him think of Louis, and if he came back and Zayn wasn't there. If then he left again and Zayn missed it, and Zayn can't --

“I have to go,” he says suddenly, desperately. 

“What?” Liam stops pulling things out of his fridge and looks at Zayn. He must look terrible because Liam just says, “I’ll drive you.”

“No.”

“Zayn.”

“I --” He feels trapped, frantic. Like he’d run if he could get his bloody legs to move. 

“Here.” Liam shoves the takeaway bag of breakfast into Zayn’s arms. “Take it, it’s fine,” he says, when Zayn tries to protest.

“Don’t ignore my calls,” Liam yells as he leaves. “Or I’ll have to track you down again!” 

The last thing Zayn hears is Liam’s laughter at his own joke, dull and distant over the hammering of Zayn’s heart in his chest.

**

Louis is there when Zayn gets back, sitting with his feet kicked up on the dash. He smiles when Zayn opens the door, his whole face going sharp and angular. 

“Look who’s not dead,” he says, already reaching for the bag in Zayn’s hand, helping himself to the lion’s share of it. “Cheers!”

Zayn ignores the sinking feeling in his stomach and holds out his hand for a muffin. He’s relieved Louis is back, is what it is probably. It’s fine. He’s fine. Everything’s fine.

&&&

Louis makes it a point not to ask where Zayn’s been. Makes it a point not to mention that he’d come back two nights ago and waited up for ages. He got a second hamburger out of the deal, since Zayn never showed, and while normally Louis would love complaining about spending his hard-earned money only to have to eat a cold, nasty burger while Zayn’s off having a grand old time doing fuck knows what, lately… Lately Louis he doesn’t have it in him.

“Seems like you do, though,” Eleanor says when he tells her the whole saga a few days later. Louis frowns and she waves at him. “You’ve been complaining since you walked in the door.”

“Have not.”

“Have too.” 

“Have --”

“Do you want these or not?” El interrupts him, rolling her eyes. “I have to go, so take ‘em or don’t, just shut up and be quick about it.”

He does, of course. “Cheers.” He swallows the pills and then brushes a kiss against Eleanor’s cheekbone, leaves before she finishes locking up. Might as well go to work now, he figures. No point in wasting a good high. 

**

Louis turns in early, while things are still fuzzy around the edges from El’s pills. The air in the van is thick with smoke when he gets in so it shouldn’t be a surprise to see Zayn sitting there on the bench seat, a bright spot cutting through the haze. It is, though. They’ve been missing each other since Zayn came back, working long hours and sleeping in shifts, barely a few words exchanged. Louis falters, covers it by reaching for the cigarette in Zayn’s hand before he’s even fully in the van.

“Good night?” he asks.

Zayn chuckles, draws up his knees as Louis climbs over him. “Not bad. You?”

Louis shrugs. He’s got more money now than he did before, that’s all that really matters. “Sure.” He takes another drag before Zayn’s hand is outstretched, his fingers brushing Louis’s when he takes the cig back.

Zayn lights another when it’s done. He lets Louis bum a couple drags off that one, too. They don’t say anything but it’s better this way, Louis thinks. It’s easier to pretend that nothing ever happened. That nothing’s different at all. 

He tests it out by inching closer to Zayn until they’re tucked up against each other. For a brief second Zayn goes stiff and Louis feels his heart stutter but then Zayn exhales and relaxes, his arm resting along the back of the seat, and everything goes back to normal. 

The silence stretches between them, familiar and comfortable. Louis can feel Zayn’s heat bleeding into his side, warming him up. The smell of soap underneath a layer of smoke and cologne, like wherever Zayn was had proper showers. Louis sighs and leans into him. Their time apart was good. It sucked, yeah, but now they’re here, together, and Louis doesn’t feel like a part of him is about to shake loose. He knew taking some space was a brilliant idea. He knew it.

“What?” Zayn asks. “What’re you laughing about?” 

Louis looks up, confused. He doesn’t think he was talking out loud. Zayn points and Louis can see their reflections in the rear-view mirror. Louis ducks his head, burrows closer into Zayn’s side. 

“Nothing,” he says. Zayn goes back to smoking. After a minute Louis bounces his fist on Zayn’s knee. “Missed you, is all.”

He tilts his head up so he can see the way Zayn’s mouth twitches into a vague smile when he says, “Yeah. Me too.”

Louis slides his arm all the way around Zayn’s torso and hugs him closer, listening for the moment when Zayn breaks and starts to laugh, the tell-tale rumble that starts in his chest. It’s easy, then, to lean up and press a kiss to Zayn’s jaw.

“Lou,” Zayn says, warning. Louis knows that tone well; he’s been ignoring it for ages.

“What?” He blinks innocently, feels the rise and fall of Zayn’s ribs under his palm. He kisses Zayn’s neck, feels the beat of Zayn’s pulse under his tongue. He waits until Zayn shivers to whisper, “C’mon, Zayn.” 

He leans back, pulling Zayn with him until they’re as sprawled out as possible. Louis sighs at Zayn’s familiar weight on top of him. He’d missed it. Missed this. Them. He smiles and Zayn half-smiles back; Louis touches his thumb to the dip in Zayn’s chin and wonders what he’d have to do for a full grin. Louis does love a challenge.

Zayn licks his lips, his tongue catching Louis’s skin and igniting sparks everywhere. He curls his hand in the front of Zayn’s vest and goes to pull him forward but Zayn stops.

“Wait.” Zayn leans over to drop his cigarette into a mostly empty soda cup. Louis bites at the tendons of his forearm holding him up, drags his tongue along the ink. Zayn hips jerk and he mutters, “Unfair.” Louis’s laugh turns into a groan when Zayn rocks his hips down again, deliberately, and his smile gets infinitesimally bigger. 

He fumbles with Zayn’s flies, gets his trousers halfway down before Zayn’s mouth is on his neck, his beard rough against Louis’s collarbone. Zayn’s teeth are sharp. Louis shifts, hooks one leg around Zayn’s knee; he wants Zayn closer. He wants to find the perfect angle, the perfect rhythm. 

Zayn noses at his cheek. “Lou,” he says, his voice low and urgent and needy. A wellspring of memories surges up and Louis fights to keep them down, shuts his eyes tighter at the vision of Zayn spread out beneath him in the library. 

“Shh,” Louis grits out, rocking his hips up. Zayn won’t be distracted, though. 

“Lou.” His lips catch the corner of Louis’s mouth when he speaks. He touches his fingers to Louis’s cheek and Louis knows Zayn wants him to look at him, wants to kiss him proper, but Louis won’t. He can’t. It’s too much. They only just got past everything that happened in that bloody library; Louis isn’t about to go through it again. He turns his head to avoid it and above him, Zayn goes still. 

Louis feels relieved until Zayn pulls away, his face gone dark and shuttered. Then that piece inside him that had been threatening to shake loose starts up again, feeling as wobbly as ever.

“Zayn.” He doesn’t know what else to say. 

Zayn turns away, curling his body into a tight ball. He hasn’t even done up his trousers. “Just go to sleep, Tommo.” 

Louis tries. He throws his arm over his eyes and desperately wills himself to think of something, anything but that night in the library. It doesn’t work. He can feel a headache setting in. El’s pills must finally be wearing off.

&&&

Liam can hear his phone vibrating but he can’t find it, which would be bad enough on its own, except Loki thinks that it’s all a fun game and won’t stop barking while Liam lifts the sofa cushions and tries to look under the couch.

“Stop, no, shh,” Liam tries, batting him away with one hand while he shakes out a blanket with the other. It’s probably work. He’s got an event tomorrow night and he’s not sure if it’s formal dress or cocktail or somewhere in between and he’s supposed to have heard by now but the lady he’s escorting appears to have misplaced her invitation. It’ll be a right mess, Liam’s sure. 

His fingers brush the edge of his phone, buried deep into the crevice near the arm of the sofa. “Aha!” 

Of course, it’s stopped ringing by the time he finds it. Liam’s even more annoyed when he realizes it was Zayn calling, not work. He hasn’t heard from Zayn since he went running out of the flat like his hair was on fire. Liam’s been torn between wanting to call and wanting to give Zayn space so he doesn’t start shouting at Liam on the phone again. And now he’s gone and missed him entirely. Shit.

“Hush, you.” Liam pets Loki absently while ringing Zayn back. It takes a couple rings for him to answer. 

“Hi!” Liam says straightaway. “Sorry, I couldn’t find my phone, it was stuck in the sofa and Loki thought I was playing keepaway with him.” He laughs. “Found it, though! How are you?”

He can hear Zayn exhale in the pause before he says, “Fine.”

“Oh. Good. Me too.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything. Liam rights the cushions and refolds his blanket and lets him take all the time he needs.

“Did you want something?” Zayn asks.

Liam balks for a second but says, “Nope. Just calling you back, saying hi, you know. Nothing really.” He thinks Zayn might be laughing on the other end but it’s so quiet it could just be wind. “Have a good day, I guess. We should hang out again soon, if you want, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright,” Zayn says, just before he rings off.

“Alright,” Liam says to no one, and decides to take Loki for a run to burn off all this excess energy they both seem to have acquired.

**

They don’t hang out, of course. Liam doesn’t hear from Zayn for another week, and even then all he gets is a voicemail in the early hours of the morning.

“I know it’s late but I just wanted to say thanks for, like. Well. Y’know.” Zayn huffs a laugh and then the message cuts off abruptly.

It’s just a stupid voicemail but it feels like so much more.

**

He’s with Loki at the park when he runs into Louis kicking around a football with a couple other people Liam vaguely recognizes. He jogs over, trapping the ball when Louis kicks it to him, sending it on to someone else.

“Been awhile,” Louis says, coming up beside him. 

“Yeah.” Liam twitches away from where Louis is trying to pinch his side. “How’ve you been?”

Louis shrugs. “You know.” He raises his hand for the ball and chases it to the left, caught in a footrace with another lad. Liam sighs. So that’s that then. Good chat.

He spots Zayn, sat on the steps leading up to the statue, as he’s turning to leave. Zayn’s looking right at him but when Liam waves it still takes him a moment to wave back.

“I didn’t realize you were here!” Liam calls out as he heads over. He gestures to the rest of the lads. “Makes sense though.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says.

“Are you here more now?” Liam inwardly rolls his eyes at how dull he sounds. 

Zayn shrugs. “Sometimes. If it’s nice.”

“It’s one of Loki’s favorites,” Liam says. He feels like he’s grasping for straws, just trying to find something to keep the conversation going.

Zayn hums and reaches to pet Loki, making a series of goofy faces while he does it. Liam bites the inside of his cheek so he won’t laugh or smile. He has a feeling Zayn would hate that right about now.

Only Loki jumps up, gets his front paws on Zayn’s knees and licks a big, gross path across Zayn’s cheek and Liam can’t keep from laughing, even as he’s saying, “Loki, no!” and tugging on his leash. But Zayn’s laughing too, wiping his sleeve across his face and smiling up at Liam. 

“Do you want to get chips?” Liam asks before he can think about it. Before he can convince himself it’s a terrible idea.

“I just ate.” Zayn frowns. “I’ll walk with you, if you like?”

Liam nods quickly and then Zayn’s gathering up his stuff, shoving it into his backpack. 

“Are you gonna tell Louis you’re leaving?”

Zayn shakes his head. “He’ll figure it out.”

**

Zayn steals more than half his chips as they wander through the park.

“He’ll get fat,” Liam says, when Zayn tosses yet another chip to Loki.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Not likely. I’ve seen his workout routine.” He pokes Liam’s bicep with his knuckle.

He’s not said much, but he’s not been cold, either. Just quiet. In a good way, Liam thinks. Like that night he found the Twisters and Zayn had fallen asleep still smiling. Liam fills in the spaces with stories about his last job, a ten year reunion where he was by far the youngest person in attendance, and the one awhile back, with the misplaced invitation.

“She’d sworn she found the invite and it said formal dress.”

“Let me guess,” Zayn says, deadpan. “She was wrong?’

“It was a regular work party!” Liam sighs. “I looked like such a knob.” It really was horrible. At least she’d felt terrible and tipped like, fifty percent.

Zayn snorts; he doesn’t even have the decency to pretend to feel bad. Liam elbows him in the side and tries to look wounded. It only makes Zayn laugh outright.

**

“Shall I fetch us another round, love?”

Liam’s date squeezes his hand as she nods. “Please.”

“Back in a jiff.” He winks as he goes, ignoring the tittering at the table, the high-pitched whispers of _isn’t he a something_ and _where did you find him_?

The line at the bar is long and slow. Liam tries not to fidget with the cuffs of his shirt as he waits. He almost wishes the event was fancier; at least when he’s in a tux there are waiters coming around with serving trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. This party hasn’t got any snacks at all; Liam’s starved.

He orders a lemon drop martini for Laura and a Coke for himself and manages two handfuls of wasabi peas from the tiny bowl on the bar while he waits. He’s trying to sneak a third -- maybe he could put it in his trousers pocket? No, that’d leave a mess and he really doesn’t want to have them dry cleaned yet if he can avoid it -- when someone taps his shoulder.

No one’s there when Liam looks but then there’s the telltale chuckle from his other side. 

“Hey,” Harry says slowly, smiling and leaning against the bar like he’s been there the whole time. He holds up two fingers and says to the bartender, “Can I get two gin and tonics? Please? Cheers.”

“I’m sorry,” Liam tells the couple Harry’s just cut in line. He leans forward to apologize to the people behind them, and the ones behind them, too. “We’ll really -- it’ll be just a moment.”

“Are you coming, Liam?” Harry asks, drinks in hand like this hold-up is all Liam’s fault. Liam makes apologetic eyes at everyone, grabs his own drinks, and follows Harry to an empty table at the edge of the room.

“I didn’t know you were here,” he says. He and Harry have worked in the same circles for ages, always bumping into each other at these sorts of things. They’re great at pretending not to know each other. Or, Liam always pretends. Harry never much seems to care for the charade. 

“It’s been awhile, innit?” Liam continues, because now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t run into Harry in quite some time. 

“Yeah, well.” Harry laughs around the rim of his glass. “It’s been a bit hard to find work since Caz cut me loose.”

Liam goggles at that. Harry’s been with Caroline for as long as Liam’s known him. Sure, Harry’s been at events with different people and Liam knows he’s gone home with them all, but it was always Caroline who he went home to. Caroline who paid for Harry’s suits and dry cleaning and anything he wanted. Who hooked him up with all of his gigs.

“What? When? Why?”

Harry shrugs. “It’s done now, does it matter?”

Liam thinks it sort of does, but Harry’s shaking his hair out of his eyes, saying, “So I’ve been trying to pick up odd jobs but it’s a bit strange, I can’t sort out the right places to, you know.”

He takes another sip of his drink and watches Liam carefully. Liam feels like he’s still reeling from it all, can’t think of a question to ask because there are so many rattling around in his brain.

“Do you?” Harry asks, his voice quiet enough that Liam has to lean forward to hear him talk. “I’m not familiar with the area and it’s really difficult.”

“Like around here?” Liam frowns. He catches Laura scanning the room, looking for him, and feels guilty for hiding over here with Harry when he should be doting on her. He’s not getting paid to chit chat. 

“Yeah. I know it’s not really your area of expertise,” Harry says, scratching the back of his neck, “but it’s good money, at least in between the few regulars I got to keep in the split. Do you remember Nick? Did you ever meet him? I’m not sure if we ever went to any events together, oh wait, there was the one with the really nice flower arrangements, I think they were peonies --”

“Here.” Liam fishes the pen from his inside jacket pocket and writes Zayn and Louis’s number on a spare serviette and passes it over. Harry thankfully stops rambling and grins at Liam instead. 

“What’s this?” 

For a fleeting moment, Liam regrets everything, considers snatching the number back from Harry and dissolving it in his drink.

“Ask for Zayn,” he says. That’s safer. Maybe. Maybe Zayn will hang up on Harry immediately and then never speak to Liam again because he’ll know Liam is behind this. He’ll definitely know. It’s just -- Harry’s so great and he really does seem to be in a bit of a bad spot. It’s better if he has people looking out for him. Better if they both do. All do. 

Harry throws his arms around Liam, knocking him sideways. “Thank you, Liam! I knew I could count on you.”

“Anytime, Haz.” Liam sighs and begins the process of untangling himself from Harry’s octopus-like grasp so he can finally get back to Laura.

**

“Don’t be mad,” Liam says as soon as Zayn answers the phone. He cringes. That probably wasn’t the best greeting.

“Why?”

It’s impressive, really, the way Zayn can make it sound like the beginning of more than one question. _Why don’t be mad? Why did you do this to me? Why are you calling at all?_ Liam likes each question less than the one before it. Things’ve been so much better lately, that day in the park and the handful of times they’ve seen each other since. And now Liam’s gone and fucked it right up. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to soldier on. 

“There’s someone who might ring you?” Liam sighs. “No, he will ring you. He’s looking for work, is all. He’s a friend so just, don’t hang up on him immediately, yeah?”

Zayn’s silent for a long minute. Liam leans against the side of his building, the cold air biting his face. He should go inside, but Loki will be there, excited to see him, and Liam needs the quiet. At least for right now. He’ll cuddle Loki once Zayn’s finished shouting at him.

But all Zayn says is, “Yeah. Fine. Alright,” and rings off before Liam can invite him for dinner or tell him Harry’s name or anything. 

&&&

The coffee shop is overrun with mums and pushchairs and loud children banging on the tables. Zayn immediately regrets agreeing to meet Harry here. He regrets agreeing to meet him at all, really. It’s a favor to Liam, he reminds himself. 

“Zayn?” The person -- Harry, Zayn assumes -- touches his elbow and Zayn jumps, pulling back immediately. 

“Yeah. Harry, right?”

Harry nods and grins. He’s got the hugest fucking dimples; blokes’ll love him, Zayn thinks, and then hates himself for thinking it in the first place.

“C’mon, I nabbed a table in the back.” Harry doesn’t let go of Zayn’s sleeve, leading him through the shop to where it’s a bit quieter. “D’you want to order a drink or something?”

Zayn shakes his head. This place is overpriced as shit and he doesn’t want to regret leaving something behind if this goes south fast. Harry doesn’t seem to care, shrugs agreeably when Zayn declines a bite from the cup of cubed fruit Harry’s half-eaten already.

“So Liam said you and he go way back?”

Zayn shrugs. He wouldn’t say way back but far enough. “Yeah.”

“Cool. Us, too. Me and Liam, obviously.” Harry spears another bit of fruit, uses it to gesture between himself and Zayn. “But maybe us, someday, yeah? Liam said you and your friend knew the area pretty well and I don’t know if he told you, but I haven’t a clue where anything is around here. I mean, I’ve still got some regulars but that’s not really steady money, you know, and since Caroline -- did Liam tell you about that? Caroline was great --”

Zayn feels like he could drop off while Harry’s talking. He doesn’t give two shits about the bird who threw Harry out, doesn’t care that Harry was an in-demand escort before he was kicked to the kerb. He tries to picture Harry and Liam rubbing elbows with people at different events. Harry’s got that easy charm, he supposes. It makes Zayn want to staple his lips together so he’ll shut up but it’s the kind of thing other people love. 

Harry does stop talking eventually. He finishes the rest of his fruit and, when he figures out Zayn isn’t about to fill in the silence, he asks, “So what’s your story?”

“Don’t have one.”

Harry frowns. “Everyone’s got a story.”

“Not me,” Zayn says, jaw set. Harry watches him for a minute but lets it go. 

“Liam said you’d probably be a miserable twat,” he says. 

“He did not,” says Zayn, narrowing his eyes. Liam would never. Would he? Harry nods smugly and Zayn frowns, tries to imagine Liam calling _anyone_ a twat, let alone behind their back. Maybe he has hidden depths. Probably not. “Are we talking about the same Liam?”

“About this tall, sad cow eyes, arms like --” Harry makes fists that Zayn assumes are supposed to accentuate his forearms or something. It doesn’t work. Harry’s a bit of a beanpole. Still. Zayn chuckles despite himself and Harry smiles. “Maybe he didn’t say _miserable twat_ , but he said you would be a bit tetchy and that I shouldn’t let it deter me.”

It’s Zayn’s turn to smile. “Liam used the word ‘deter?’”

Harry snorts and Zayn feels -- he doesn’t know what. It was a late night and he’s still tired, could’ve slept more instead of showing up here to watch someone else eat. But he’s not -- it’s not been terrible. It could’ve been much worse. 

“Have you got a pen?” he asks. Harry looks confused but still fishes one out of the satchel on the chair next to him. Zayn writes down the address for him. “I’ll be there tonight, like, if you want. We’re there most every night.”

“You and Louis,” Harry says. It makes Zayn wonder just how much Liam’s told him. How close Harry and Liam are. Loads of things.

“Yeah,” he says, getting up even though he knows Harry wants him to stay longer, elaborate or whatever. He gets two steps away before he’s turning back. “Don’t wear that hat. Let them see the curls, yeah?” 

Harry touches the edge of his beanie, confused. Zayn just waves to him and leaves, fishing his cigarettes out as he goes. He needs a smoke and a meal and a nap, not necessarily in that order.

**

Zayn keeps telling himself he’ll go for the next one. That all Liam wanted him to do was tell Harry where, that he isn’t expected to wait around for him. Another car passes; Zayn leans against the wall and lights up another cigarette. He could go back to the van and smoke another bowl; maybe Harry’ll have shown up by then. 

“You _are_ here!” he hears, and when he looks up, Harry’s tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, arms pinwheeling until he rights himself.

“Said I would be, didn’t I?”

Harry ignores him, says, “I accidentally spilled my drink and the ink bled and I couldn’t read it. I tried calling you but you didn’t answer.”

“Louis has the phone.” He’d taken it to call Eleanor earlier and now, well. They don’t answer when they’re working. “He’s down there,” Zayn says, tilting his head to the SUV down the street before Harry can ask.

Harry makes a small noise. He looks younger than he did in the coffeeshop, scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, his coat hanging open. Zayn has the sudden urge to zip it up for him, to give him a pair of gloves and an extra jumper. He takes a long drag instead, exhales the smoke away from Harry.

“You’ve -- you’ve done this before, yeah?” Zayn cringes at the stupidity of the question but Harry doesn’t seem to care. 

“Yeah, ‘course. Just never around here.” He elbows Zayn in the side, smiles a bit when Zayn finally looks at him. “Safety in numbers, y’know?” 

Zayn thinks about Louis kicking him awake, offering him a meal and a place to crash. It seems like a lifetime ago. Zayn snorts as he crushes the butt of his cigarette under his heel.

“Have a good night, Harry,” he says, stepping forward; there are headlamps in the distance.

&&&

“Didn’t think you’d be back tonight,” Zayn says. Louis stares at him, at the way his breath is visible in the air. Maybe he should’ve tried to stay at El’s tonight. It’s been a while since he spent the night there; he’s due for a real bed. Oh well.

“I am,” he says. Zayn’s mouth quirks up just a little; it’s almost a smile. Louis finds himself mirroring it. He takes the spliff Zayn offers and doesn’t let himself wonder if Zayn’s smoking up more now, too. He hasn’t got room to judge anyway.

Zayn doesn’t say anything at all, not even when Louis slips in next to him, close as possible. It’s fucking freezing outside and Zayn’s been in here long enough to take most of the chill off, if his body heat is anything to go by. It’s times like these that Louis thinks things are fine. That they’re going back to the way they were. That no matter how much he and Zayn avoid each other, as long as they have this then they’re good.

It’s better like this, just the two of them. Sometimes lately Louis’ll come back from a job and Zayn’ll be there, leaning against a street light, talking to someone Louis doesn’t recognize, laughing in that way where Zayn doesn’t want someone to know how funny he thinks they are, and it unleashes something bitter and mean in Louis’s brain. It’s like back when Zayn and Liam first started hanging out, talking about comic books with their heads bent together. Louis’d hated that, too. This is better. Him and Zayn, two against whoever. Everyone.

Zayn passes him the spliff again, lets Louis smoke the last of it. The van is quiet and Louis feels sleep pulling him under. Zayn rests his cheek on top of Louis’s head. Louis nestles closer, his fingers tucked into the warm space between Zayn’s thigh and his own.

“Night, Zayn.”

Zayn shifts the tiniest bit. He keeps his own hands curled into his sleeves. “Night, Lou.”

**

The next time Louis catches Zayn talking to his new friend, he can’t help it.

“Who’s this then?” he asks, stepping between the two of them, throwing his arm around Zayn’s shoulders.

Zayn’s eyes narrow like he knows something’s up but Louis gets, “Hi, I’m Harry,” before Zayn can actually say anything.

“Harry, hmm? And Zaynie’s been hiding you because --” he gives Zayn a little shake and gets an elbow to the ribs for his troubles.

Harry laughs. “Don’t know. I’m just lucky, I guess.” He smiles stupidly big at Zayn; Louis can feel it when Zayn huffs a laugh, his chest moving under Louis’s palm. 

“Don’t know ‘bout lucky,” Zayn says. Harry laughs and Louis pulls away from Zayn to sling his arm around Harry’s neck.

“Don’t listen to him, Curly, you know us now so clearly you’ve got the best luck.” 

Harry loops his arm around Louis’s waist and turns them so they’re facing Zayn full-on. Louis doesn’t have to look to know Harry’s grinning at Zayn so he does the same, smiles and smiles until Zayn cracks and half-smiles back. It doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes.

“It’s not every day Zayn makes a friend.” Louis ignores Zayn’s rude gesture even though Harry chuckles. “Think we should celebrate this momentous occasion!”

“Fuck off, Louis,” Zayn says quietly, more venom behind it than normal. It feels like a dare. Louis smiles sweetly at him, bares his teeth at the last second.

“What do you think, Harry, dancing? Drinks?”

“Breakfast?” Harry suggests. “Like, in the morning. All three of us?”

“Brilliant!” Louis presses a smacking kiss to the side of Harry’s head. “Zayn, you didn’t tell me he was brilliant.”

Zayn quirks his eyebrow and doesn’t say anything at all. There’s a car coming down the street and Louis is about to step forward but Harry says, “Oooh, bagsy,” and then he’s breaking away from Louis, unzipping his jacket, shaking out his hair. “See you in the morning, yeah?”

Louis nods, laughing when Harry winks at them. He can feel Zayn looking at him, can practically hear the gears churning in his head. He doesn’t let himself look over. His blood’s rushing through his ears like he just ran ten kilometers. He wants to move but there are no cars; there’s nowhere to go.

“What’re you doing, Lou?” Zayn asks eventually, so quietly that it’s easy for Louis to pretend he never heard it in the first place.

**

Harry calls early -- too early. Zayn pushes his face into Louis’s chest like he’s trying to block out the light and noise.

“No,” Louis says, shoving the phone at Zayn. “He’s yours, you deal with it.”

Zayn makes a displeased noise low in the back of his throat, his brow furrowing. Louis wants to run his fingers over the creases there until they disappear. He kicks Zayn’s legs instead. “ _Zayn_.”

The phone’s stopped ringing by the time Zayn sighs and pushes himself upright, lets the momentum carry him all the way out of the van. He walks far enough away that Louis can’t hear him calling Harry back, which is good because Louis doesn’t want to listen to Zayn’s monosyllabic grunts anyway. 

“C’mon,” he says, coming back and holding the door open. “Harry’s waiting.” He finds Louis’s beanie on the floor under the bench seat and throws it at him.

“Let him wait.” It’s early and Louis hasn’t even taken a piss yet; he’s cold and his head hurts and his jaw aches. Harry can wait until it’s a reasonable hour and then they can get food.

Zayn doesn’t seem to agree, which is bullshit. If there’s anyone who should be having a fit over being up this early it’s Zayn but here he is, glaring at Louis and letting all the cold air in.

“Louis,” he says, warningly. 

“He’s _your_ friend.”

“This was _your_ idea!”

“No, it was his idea,” Louis says, feeling triumphant. Zayn rolls his eyes. He leans his hip against the door and settles in like he’s happy to wait however long Louis wants. Louis is half tempted to burrow under as many layers as possible and feign sleep until Zayn caves. Only there’s no way Zayn will cave first; he could win a staring contest with a brick wall if he set his mind to it. 

Louis sighs loudly. “Fine,” he says, and starts picking through the piles for a fresh t-shirt.

**

“Harry, we need to establish ground rules for this friendship,” he says first thing, sliding into the booth next to Harry. “No calls before eleven.”

“What? Oh, was it too early? Sorry,” he says, looking like he really is sorry. He turns to Zayn. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Zayn shrugs like it’s no big deal. Like he’s seen this side of noon more than twice in the past six months.

“Liar!” Zayn just gently pushes Louis’s finger out of his face so Louis frowns and turn back to Harry. “He’s lying.”

“Sorry,” Harry says again.

“I think he’ll live. What’s this then?” Louis reaches for the mug in front of Harry and takes a sip. Harry doesn’t protest at all.

“ _Louis_ ,” Zayn says, like he’s someone’s mum all of a sudden.

“What? Harry doesn’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Harry says dutifully, smiling at Louis like he honestly doesn’t. It’s unsettling, how trusting he is. He doesn’t know Louis from Adam. Zayn’s watching Harry like he’s just as confused as Louis is. 

Harry clears his throat. “Did you want to order? I’m thinking an omelette, haven’t had one since I went to brunch with Caroline. They had chefs working omelette stations -- you know, the kind where you put all the fillings on a plate and then they cook it for you, just how you like?”

“What?” Louis interrupts. Zayn’s not laughing but he seems like he’s about to, he’s got this bewildered look on his face that Louis’s never seen before.

“I’m having an omelette,” Harry says, as if it’s obvious. “What about you?”

Louis glances at the menu. “Eggs. Bacon. Full English,” he decides, even though he can’t afford it. Maybe just the eggs then. Eleanor sometimes has bacon lying around, maybe he can get her to fry some up next time he’s over.

“Weetabix,” Zayn says, and then someone’s coming to take their order, sneering disdainfully at them.

“Weetabix. Zayn has no sense of adventure,” Louis says once she’s gone, looping his arm through Harry’s and cuddling up to him. Harry lets him even as Zayn glowers from the opposite side of the table. Louis wants him to fight back, to call Louis out for being an idiot. He used to all the time. 

“Do you know what cats eat for breakfast?” Harry asks.

Louis sits up. “Milk?”

Harry shakes his head, mouth quirked like he’s biting back a smile. “Mice Krispies!”

He laughs and Louis laughs a bit, too, can’t help it. “That’s terrible, mate,” he says.

He looks over, expecting Zayn to be rolling his eyes, but Zayn’s mouth is doing that thing where he’s almost laughing but not quite. He drums his fingers on the table; the vibrations set off a chain reaction and Louis’s headache comes back with a vengeance. He wishes he was still in the car, where no one’s clinking utensils or talking too loud. Talking at all. 

He slides down in his seat again, just enough to rest his head on Harry’s shoulder. Louis closes his eyes before he has a chance to watch Zayn watch him.

**

He doesn’t see Harry for awhile after that. 

“He works other jobs, like, regular ones,” Zayn’d said when he asked. Louis wonders if that means Zayn’s seeing Harry sometimes, too, but he’s not sure if he really wants to know the answer. Not now, at least, when it’s just the two of them sharing a bowl in the van, the sun dropping like a stone from the sky.

Louis’s limbs feel heavy. Everything feels slowed down, like slogging through water.

“It’s not,” Zayn says. “Told you. It’s just.” He takes his time thinking about it. Louis watches the column of his throat when he swallows. The long line of his arm when he gestures. “Far away.”

“I’m right here,” Louis says. Zayn’s t-shirt is riding up, part of his belly showing. Moving closer feels like crossing the ocean, but Louis can’t reach it from here.

Zayn shakes his head slowly. “Everything’s far away.”

Louis can feel the way Zayn’s breath hitches when Louis makes contact, his fingers dragging across Zayn’s skin. It’s been so long. He wonders if Zayn misses it, too.

“Lou.” Zayn’s voice is ragged. Louis rakes his nails down Zayn’s side, digs in harder at the end so that Zayn hisses. His head’s ducked halfway down when Zayn moves, says, “Louis,” and, “It’s getting late. We have to go.”

Louis bites his lip hard. “Yeah.” he sits up. Everything feels like slow motion. “Yeah.”

**

“Heyyyy,” Harry says, smiling when he sees them. Louis takes his cheeks in both hands and plants a big kiss on his nose. Harry laughs. “Missed you too, Louis.”

“I’m not sure you did. You don’t call, you don’t write.” Louis realizes his hands are still on Harry’s face when he feels Harry’s cheeks lift with his smile. He slides his hands down until they’re on Harry’s shoulders. 

“But Louis.” Harry fits his hands over Louis’s hips, shakes him once. He tries to school his face back to sobriety as he says, “I wrote you three hundred and sixty-five letters. I wrote you every day for a year!”

His eyes are big and soft. Louis blinks. He’s got no idea what Harry’s on about. “What?”

“ _The Notebook_?” Harry laughs. “Haven’t you seen it? You should.”

Louis taps his thumb on Harry’s collarbone. “Maybe you could show it to me sometime.”

Somewhere behind him, Zayn scoffs. Good, Louis thinks. Be annoyed. He turns it up even higher, bats his eyelashes at Harry even though Zayn can’t see. He’ll know. He always knows. 

“I’d love to,” Harry says, rolling with it. He laughs a little as he asks, “Your place or mine?”

“Well.” Louis pushes the neck of Harry’s top aside, traces along the tattoo just peeking out as he pretends to think. “I have a roommate and I don’t know if I told you, but he can be a right pain in the arse.” 

“Mmm, that’s terrible.” Harry bats his eyelashes right back. He pulls Louis in closer, biting his lip like he’s trying to keep from laughing. Louis can feel the hysteria building up in his own chest like a geyser threatening to burst. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep it down. 

“I definitely don’t have roommates,” Harry says.

Louis slides his hand down Harry’s front, chest to hip, before he asks, “So yours then?”

He hears it first, the way Zayn makes a choked off noise, and then he sees it out of the corner of his eye. Zayn throws his cigarette on the ground, crushes it under his boot before he storms off. Louis watches him get in a car, watches the car drive off, the laughter dying in his throat.

He takes a step back from Harry, and then another until they’re not touching anymore. Harry’s still smiling and laughing a little. Louis doesn’t see what’s so funny anymore. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a couple pills El’d given him earlier in the week.

“No thanks,” Harry says when Louis holds out his hand. Louis shrugs and takes them both. Time to go to work.

&&&

Harry’s en route to Nick’s for a night in -- or out, Nick hasn’t told him yet, he likes to keep these things a bit of a surprise -- taking the long way through the park and stretching his legs after the long tube ride when Liam finally calls him back.

“Mate, I don’t understand a single word of this text. What’s silver and what’s gold? If you’re buying more rings can’t you just send me a picture?”

“No, not real silver --” Harry laughs. “Like the song. You know.” He hums a bit of it _make new friends but keep the old_ until Liam makes a sound vaguely like understanding. Harry knows that means he still doesn’t quite understand. “Because of Zayn and Louis.”

“Oh, right,” Liam says, finally getting it. “That’s good! I was wondering if you’d met yet.”

“They didn’t -- Zayn didn’t tell you?”

“No.” Liam’s laugh sounds forced. “But he’s --”

“Strange,” Harry says, trying not to laugh at the insulted sound Liam makes.

“He’s not _strange_ , he’s just… Private.”

That probably is a better way of putting it. Harry’s impressed. It’s not like Liam to be such a wordsmith. He’s about to compliment him -- positive reinforcement is key and it’s Harry’s goal to get Liam to send an entire text without typos someday -- when Liam asks, “Are you going to see them tonight?”

“Zayn and Louis? No, I’ve got Nick tonight. Dunno what we’re doing but it should be a laugh.”

“Nick your regular you mentioned at the party? The one with the ponies?”

“Yeah! Well peonies, but yeah.” Harry smiles, amazed that Liam remembered. Liam’s always been good at remembering that kind of stuff, though. “You’d like him, I think. We should hang out sometime!”

“That’d be weird,” he says hesitantly.

“What? It wouldn’t!”

Liam snorts. “If you say so, Haz.” 

“I do say so,” Harry says a bit indignantly. Just because Nick’s technically a client doesn’t mean he’s not fun to hang out with. It’s Liam’s loss, really. “Alright. I’ve got to go. I’m almost there.”

“Have fun,” Liam says. Harry rings off before Liam can tell him to make good choices or some other parental cliche. All Harry’s choices are good. Or at least they seem to be at the time. 

**

Harry turns in a circle, confused.

“Nick, your place has too many doors,” Harry complains, fumbling around while Nick stays on the sofa, loose-limbed and laughing, too lazy to do up his trousers. It’s possible Harry’s had more to drink than he thought, because making his way back to the lounge is proving difficult. 

“If you’re opening doors you’re going in the wrong direction, love,” Nick calls from somewhere.

“Then I’ve found your airing cupboard!” Harry goes to close the door when something strange catches his eye.

“Harry, stop messing about, we’ve got to leave soon, the taxi’s on its way.” There’s a band playing somewhere and Nick’s got them on the list for the afterparty. It’ll be fun, Harry thinks. Nick’s excited about it and that alone is enough.

“Alright, alright,” Harry says. He knows his voice is muffled and he bumps into the wall three separate times making his way back to Nick but it’s worth it for the way he cracks up laughing when he sees Harry wearing a giant costume elephant head. 

“Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?” Harry asks, his hands on his hips, mock-annoyed.

“Horrible,” Nick says, groaning. He bats at the trunk and it sways from side-to-side. Harry waggles his eyebrows before remembering Nick can’t see. “Forgot I had this at all. I won Best in Show that Halloween, I’ll have you know.

“Course you did.” Harry brushes imaginary dust off his shoulder, mimes fluffing the elephant’s nonexistent quiff. Nick’s phone rings -- the taxi’s here -- so Harry moves to take the head off. 

“No,” Nick says, in that gravelly voice he gets. He squeezes Harry’s wrists once. “Double if you leave it on.”

“Yeah?” It’s an odd request, but not the oddest. Harry’d probably do it for laughs; double is icing on the cake. “Alright.”

“We’ll tell people it’s avant-garde,” Nick saying as he manhandles Harry to the door -- it really is impossible to see like this, Harry’s going to have to be led around all night. “They’ll love it.”

“Later maybe you could watch me have a bath,” Harry suggests while Nick locks his door behind them.

“Sounds creepy,” Nick says, falling right into Harry’s trap. 

“It’s not, though,” he says, and pauses to make sure Nick’s really listening. “Because elephants’ve always got their trunks on.”

“I should let you go these stairs alone for that,” Nick says, but he holds out his hand for Harry to take so he doesn’t have to go it fully blind.

**

“Wait, _what_?” Zayn asks when Harry’s finished telling him how Nick’d led him around the whole night. He’s looking at Harry like he’s cracked, which is a bit uncalled for, really. Harry makes a face back, shrugs.

“It was fun,” he says. It had been, Nick holding Harry’s drink for him, feeding the straw under the elephant’s chin whenever Harry wanted. The whole night had been a right laugh.

Zayn makes a noncommittal noise; Harry fights not to frown at him. He wishes Louis had come along. It’s not that Harry doesn’t like Zayn, he does, it’s just he’s bloody difficult to get along with sometimes. Louis is a great buffer. It’s why when Harry’d texted Zayn about coming with him to donate blood he’d suggested Zayn bring Louis. He hadn’t, though, had shown up alone, mumbled something about Louis being busy when Harry’d asked.

Oh well. Too late to do anything about it now, he supposes, pulling open the door to the research facility.

“D’you think this’ll work?” Zayn asks, following Harry inside.

“Hopefully!” Harry’s done it before. It’s an easy way to make thirty quid, if he can get through the pre-screening round. It only works about half the time, but the half that it works gets him money and a free snack so it’s always worth a shot.

Luck isn’t on their side this visit. They fill out the questionnaires and let the nurse stick their fingers and then she frowns, says, “Sorry, loves.” 

“I told you you should’ve said you had diabetes,” Harry hisses.

“It doesn’t work like that, bro, I’m pretty sure,” Zayn says for the third time today, looking for all the world like he’s trying not to laugh. The nurse looks like she’s holding it in, too, watching them both with a fond look. Zayn must notice it too, because he bats his lashes at her while Harry smiles, scuffs his toe on the carpet as he says, “Thanks for letting us try,” and she sighs and gives them biscuits and Ribena anyway.

“You’re sure you won’t get in trouble?” Harry asks while she pretends not to see Zayn filling his jacket pockets. She laughs.

“Oh, don’t worry about me.” 

Harry cups her elbow and leans in, is about to tell her that he is worried, that he’d never want someone to risk getting sacked for him, when he feels Zayn snag the back of his jacket.

“Thank you,” Harry calls, waving as Zayn drags him toward the door. She laughs as she waves back, keeps laughing until Harry and Zayn are out of sight.

“What was that for?” Harry asks, fixing his jacket where it’s gone all wrinkled from Zayn’s fist. Zayn makes a face like it should be obvious. “She was nice,” Harry says. 

Zayn’s looking at him like he had earlier, after the elephant head story. Like Harry’s gone mad. 

“You don’t have to shag someone just ‘cos she gave us free biscuits,” he says. 

“What if I wanted to? She was well fit.”

The way Zayn snorts makes Harry want to shove him. The nurse was pretty and she seemed really sweet; a quick shag in one of the back rooms would’ve been fun. There’s no need to be rude about it. Only when he looks over, Zayn’s still got that look like Harry’s crazy. 

“What?” Harry asks. “It’s just a bit of sex, yeah?” He waggles his eyebrows until Zayn rolls his eyes and shoves Harry gently. 

“Idiot,” he says, and it seems like he’s talking about more than the way Harry’s tripping over his own feet. Harry wants to ask but doesn’t know how, and anyway when he looks over, Zayn’s face is carefully blank.

“Give me some of your biscuits,” he says, nudging Zayn with his elbow. “I didn’t have time to grab more. Weird, innit?”

“Should’ve spent less time flirting,” Zayn grumbles, but he’s almost smiling when he passes a handful to Harry. 

**

 _zayn said u tried to donate blood no fairrrrrr i want 2 come nxt time_ Liam texts Harry one afternoon. It’s been days since Harry heard from Zayn and he knows this probably doesn’t count but it’s better than nothing. At least Zayn’s not been telling Liam he hates Harry and never wants to see him again. 

_Science doesn’t want your blood, Liam. It’s too healthy_ Harry sends back. He assumes Zayn told Liam that science didn’t want their blood, either, but that’s not the point.

_but it soundedd fun! u got ribinaaa_

_You know you can buy your own at Tesco, right?_

_:( but thats not fun :(_

He thinks Liam’s got a twisted idea of fun if he’s sore he missed out on paperwork. What’s Zayn been telling him? Though it is Liam, and he gets upset if he’s left out of anything; it’s likely he just wants to be included.

 _Next time we go you can come too_ Harry promises, and ignores all the _:D_ texts Liam sends in response.

**

“Oi, Harry!” he hears, loud in the night. It takes him a minute to spot Louis and Zayn, standing just in the shadows on the street corner.

“Hi,” he says, glad to see them. He’s been meeting up with his regulars a bunch lately, hasn’t had to go out on his own all that much.

“Missed you around here,” Louis says. Zayn hums in agreement. It’s dark but now that he’s close, Harry can tell they’re both high. Higher than usual, even. It’s stupid that it worries him, but --

“You okay?” he asks, because Zayn’s eyes are glassy, half-lidded, and Louis’s got his arm around Zayn’s waist like he’s not quite steady enough to stand on his own.

“We’re great,” Louis says. “Never been better.”

Zayn gives a thumbs up, waggles his eyebrows as he smiles slowly. Louis pats Harry’s cheek sloppily with his free hand. Zayn sways on his feet when he laughs and Harry watches Louis pat Zayn’s stomach, his fingers curling into Zayn’s top as Zayn relaxes, melting back into Louis.

“It’s gonna be a good night,” Zayn says, his voice slow. “Gonna be fun.” His eyes are practically closed when he smiles in Harry’s direction.

“It sure is.” Louis rubs Zayn’s stomach. He hooks his chin over Zayn’s shoulder and smiles at Harry like there’s nothing out of sorts. Maybe there isn’t. Harry’s probably just being an idiot. 

“Rock paper scissors to see who gets first?” Louis suggests, and everyone puts a hand in to play.

&&&

“No, that’s everything I need for now,” Liam finishes scribbling down the details on the back of his McDonald’s receipt, “if anything changes, give me a ring but otherwise we’re all set. Yes. Friday at six. Looking forward to it.”

He’s just hanging up when something slams hard into his back. He whirls around, glaring, and -- “Louis?”

“Long time, no see, Payno.” Louis’s smile is sharp. “Working hard?”

“Oh, you know,” Liam laughs despite the taunting note in Louis’s voice. He holds up the pen and the receipt with Friday’s client on it. “Never a dull moment.”

Louis snatches it out of his hand, frowning when he can’t read Liam’s handwriting. “What’s this one, then? BBC gala? Dinner cruise on the Thames?”

“Second cousin’s wedding, I think?”

“Boring,” Louis singsongs, crumpling the receipt and tossing it so it bounces off Liam’s forehead.

“How’ve you been, Louis?” The girl behind the counter slides Liam’s tray towards him. Liam takes it and then takes a step towards the tables before he hesitates -- has Louis eaten already? Was he waiting to order? Should Liam wait for him? Are they mates again?

“Having a stroke there, Liam? C’mon.” Louis pushes Liam forward -- gently this time, thankfully -- and follows him to the tables. He’s not got any food of his own, so maybe he has eaten. Not that that stops him from nicking Liam’s chips. “Been good, fine. Busy. You too, yeah?”

“It’s not too bad.” He’s been working quite a bit lately, actually, out more nights than he’s in, but that’s good, innit? Pays the bills and the like. He shouldn’t complain, especially not to Louis, of all people. 

They lapse into quiet for a bit, for long enough that Liam starts to feel antsy. Something about Louis makes him anxious, always has, like he’s got to live up to expectations, only he’s never sure what those expectations are.

“So Hazza, hmm?” Louis says, just as Liam’s trying to decide between talking about the cold spell they’re predicting or last weekend’s Arsenal match. “Can’t believe you were hiding him from us all this time.”

“Harry? I wasn’t -- no, he just --”

“I’m kidding, Liam.” Louis is looking at him like he’s lost his mind.

“But things are going well, then? You’re getting on?”

“You haven’t talked to him?”

“No, I have, but it’s just, you know. Harry’d get on with a potted plant.” 

Louis laughs so loud people from other tables look over.

“It makes it hard to judge what he says, is all,” Liam says defensively. It’s just that Harry’s mostly mentioned Zayn lately, and Liam’s not sure how to ask about Louis in those situations. And it’s not like he can ask Zayn outright, not after it went so swimmingly the last time he tried. 

“Things’re going fine, Dad,” Louis rolls his eyes like he used to when Liam would try to convince him and Eleanor that another round of shots was a bad idea, “don’t worry so much. Everyone’s playing nicely.”

Louis grins and nicks another chicken nugget. He’s eaten more than half of them and Liam’s more worried than upset about it. He’d get another order if he knew it wouldn’t make Louis angry. Instead he pretends not to notice, says, “Knew you’d like him.”

“And him and Zayn are like a house on fire.” Louis drags a chip through some ketchup like a paintbrush. The lid of Liam’s nuggets container is starting to look like a crime scene.

“Yeah, Zayn was saying they’d tried to sell their blood,” Liam shakes his head, chuckling, remembering Zayn’s exasperation and how glad Liam’d been that it wasn’t directed at him for once, “sounded like a laugh. Would’ve loved to see it.”

“When was this?” There’s a bite to Louis’s tone that makes Liam tense, even though when he looks up, Louis’s smiling at him like it’s nothing at all.

“Dunno, week before last? Maybe the week before that?” Liam shrugs. “Didn’t work out. Got rejected almost immediately.”

“Obviously,” Louis scoffs, and then, off Liam’s confused look, “don’t think any of us are fit enough to be parting with our blood willingly, Liam. Except maybe you.”

Liam laughs. “S’what Harry said.”

“Did he now.” It doesn’t sound like a question but it doesn’t sound clipped either. It’s fond, maybe, around the edges at least. Liam nods and Louis smiles with just the corners of his mouth. After a moment he blinks, looking somewhere behind Liam before slapping his palms on the table. “Well, that’s my cue. See you around, Payno.”

He’s pushing his seat back before Liam can register that he’s going. Liam turns in time to see Eleanor come out of the toilet, tucking herself under Louis’s arm and heading for the door without so much as a second glance. There’s a beat and then someone Liam doesn’t recognize comes out of the toilet, eyes darting around the room, and Liam has an immediate flashback to all those nights in the club, Louis standing guard while El dealt. He feels like a fool for not realizing sooner, for thinking Louis just happened to be in the same McDonald’s, like fate or something equally ridiculous.

His stomach churns when he remembers speaking to Harry just last week, how Harry’d said something off-the-cuff about Louis and Zayn and how out of it they’d seemed when they were all out together, working. Liam had brushed it off, said it wasn’t unusual but now… No. They’re fine. He swallows around the sick feeling. He’s just seen Louis. He’s _knows_ he’s fine. 

Still. It’s not enough to stop Liam from pulling out his phone. _Z - got a job next wknd she has a friend who needs a date u in?_

His chips’ve gone cold and soggy. He bins them and ties his scarf tighter around his neck before stepping outside. He’s halfway home before Zayn responds.

_Aha good one mate ! try harry :) x_

Liam sighs. He hadn’t thought it would work but he’s a bit disappointed all the same.

**

_Me & Zayn are going thrifting in Camden tom if you want to come!_

Liam’s been once with Harry before and it had been. An experience. He’s not sure he can handle it again, but the alternative is making Zayn go it alone and that’s not on.

It still takes him a minute to respond. Who knows. Maybe Zayn’s gone with Haz loads of times and loves it.

No. Liam’s met Zayn. There’s no way.

_I’ll b there :)_

**

He’s accidentally-on-purpose running late, had walked a few streets over before doubling back for his car, deciding it’d be smarter to drive. Just in case any of them bought too much to carry.

“Sorry, lads!” Liam jogs down the aisle towards where Harry’s sorting through a rack. He looks around for Zayn, expecting to see him sulking in a corner. Harry’s a slow shopper. “Where’s,” he starts, stopping when one of the dressing room curtains flings open.

“Oh my god, I feel like such a knob.”

Zayn shuffles out like his pants are too tight for him to walk properly. Harry laughs loudly, a burst of sound.

“They don’t look _bad_ ,” he says, head tilted as Zayn does a robot walk up and down the aisle.

“Just a bit… red,” Liam says, blinking. “Jacket’s sick, though.”

Zayn stops goofing around and flips up the collar of the leather jacket he’s got on. “I know, right? Fucking expensive, though.”

Liam bites down on the offer to foot the bill, knowing it’d go over like a dead balloon. Zayn shrugs and disappears back into the dressing room.

“He’s doing better than I expected,” Liam tells Harry once they’re alone. 

“He was a real twat at first --”

“Oi!” Zayn comes back out quicker than Liam’d expected, empty-handed, wearing his own clothes.

“-- but he’s perked up now that I’ve shown him the light.”

Zayn rolls his eyes at Liam behind Harry’s back. He slaps on a grin as soon as Harry turns around. “‘s been real enlightening, Haz.”

He’s singing a different tune an hour later when he and Liam are watching Harry comb through what seems to be a never-ending selection of dishes. 

“This one’s not -- oh, wait, this one’s better, yeah?” Harry sets another plate aside.

“Why?” Zayn groans, dropping his head onto Liam’s shoulder.

“Which goes better, do you think?” Harry frowns at the plates, holding them up for inspection. 

“This is where we die,” Zayn mutters.

“Haz, maybe just pick a couple, they don’t have to match your set, right? Didn’t you say your place was a klepto?”

“Excuse me, Liam,” Harry frowns. “It’s _eclectic_. And just because my dishes aren’t a full set, exactly, doesn’t mean I don’t want them to be in the same palette.”

Zayn sits up. “You’ve got a place?”

“Those are all blue, Harry,” Liam says. “They’re all the same palette.”

“Blue is not a palette.” Harry holds up two plates. “These are wildly different.”

“Like your own flat?”

Harry stops pointing out all the ways the plates are different. “I mean, yeah?” he says to Zayn, shrugging. “It’s not nice as Liam’s, but I like it. When Caz sacked me I managed to swipe some of her china. Not enough for a full set because she’d have noticed, but.”

Zayn makes a confused face as Harry goes on and on.

“Where’d you think I lived,” Harry laughs, “just out on the streets?”

“No.” Zayn pauses, nose wrinkled up. “Never really thought about it, I guess.”

“Well, I’ve got my own flat in Stepney, so it’s not too bad a hike at night. It’s small. Cold as shit, too. I’ve been trying to do more jobs to keep the bloody heat on.”

“Haz,” Liam starts, Harry shaking his head immediately. He’ll ask for help easier than Louis or Zayn ever has, but he’s got his limits too. 

Harry looks at Zayn. “If you and Louis --”

“Louis would never leave the van,” Zayn says.

“Bus one for life,” Liam adds, expecting Zayn to laugh along with him. He doesn’t. Harry just shrugs.

“Well. If you ever wanted, then.” The way he looks at Zayn makes Liam feel like he’s missed something. “Door’s always open.”

Zayn chews on his lip.

“Oh, look,” Harry pulls another dish off the shelf, his grin taking up his whole face, “a pair!”

**

“Have you been?” Zayn asks Liam as they walk down the road, Harry gone in the opposite direction. “To Harry’s flat, I mean.”

Liam shakes his head. “Seen the building once, picked him up to go to a do.”

Zayn hums, chewing on his lip again. It seems like he’s got so many questions, if only he’d bloody ask one of them.

“Seemed nice enough, though,” Liam adds, wanting to fill the silence, “had all its windows and everything.”

It makes Zayn laugh at least, him shoving Liam gently so he stumbles off the kerb. “So it’s definitely a flat, then, got it.”

“This is me.” Liam fishes his keys out, pointing to the car park. “You want a ride home?”

Zayn looks down the road, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Think I’ll take the tube,” he says after a long minute. “Thanks though.”

“Anytime,” Liam says. He waves but Zayn misses it, already pulling his phone out and heading off.

&&&

“Louis, hey!” Harry’s standing there, grinning like he always does, dimples out in full force. Louis’s not sure if he’s quite in the mood for Harry’s constant sunny disposition, wishes he had gotten fucked before coming out. It’s been shit lately, he feels like he’s been doing more than usual before going out, like that’s the only time he can get Zayn to spend time with him lately. 

Which.

“Hazza,” Louis slings his arm around Harry’s waist, Harry laughing and bumping Louis’s hip with his. There’s something entirely puzzling about Harry, how he’s slotted himself into their lives in just a few months, encroaching from where he belongs, on the fringes. Louis still feels a touch tetchy about it, because he wants to be wary about him. It’s not like Zayn though, that immediate spark. But it’s still more than Liam, taking ages to work up to it. He suspects that some of it is that bloody debilitating charm Harry’s got, but like maybe it’s got a false bottom like Louis’s stash box. 

“Vas happenin’ Louis,” Harry intones then, in this surprisingly spot on Zayn. It’s close enough that it prickles up Louis’s neck immediately, him veering off and taking a step away before realizing Harry will ask, so he melts back to Harry’s side. The air is still holding onto that cool stiffness at night, and he forces himself to be glad that Harry’s throwing off heat.

“You seen Zayn around then?” Louis asks, keeping it casual. It’s been just a day gone since he’s seen Zayn, but he’s still getting used to not always knowing. It’s shit.

“Oh,” Harry leans away for a second, pushing at his fringe, “think he was having dinner at Liam’s? At least, that’s my guess, Liam had texted me he’d bought too much pasta.”

“And he mentioned Zayn being there?” Louis digs his fingers into Harry’s hip, into where Harry’s soft. Harry squirms away, leaning against the wall.

“Don’t remember really, I think,” Harry pulls out his phone, scrolling through it with a bright look, and Louis fights the urge to nick it from his hand outright, even though all of Zayn’s texts are his own so it’s not like he’d get much info. Not that it fucking matters. 

“No need, really,” Louis fidgets in the light from a passing car, going slow enough that he knows he should probably leg it down the street, get some shit done tonight. 

“No, it’s fine, it’s,” Harry bites his lip, “aha! Yeah, Liam said he convinced Zayn to come, so. There we go!” Harry looks up, pocketing his phone as he grins, “I solved the mystery!”

“A regular detective.” Louis feels like he can’t catch his breath.

“Or,” Harry’s face looks like it’s going to split clear in half, “a dicktective. Get it?”

“Yeah,” Louis forces out a laugh, only half of it real, “I get it.” 

“D’you mind if I--” Harry’s nodding at something blurring out the side of Louis’s peripheral vision, and Louis nods, feeling like he’s on autopilot. 

Harry bounces out of his view, and Louis swallows. Zayn usually seems to come back from Liam’s in a good mood, at least. Thinks that maybe it’ll be okay, that things are gonna right themselves soon enough.

**

When Louis wakes up, Zayn’s warm next to him like it’s six months earlier, like they’ve hit a reset button. It’s even -- when Louis rolls into Zayn, his cock is hard and nudging up against the small of Louis’s back. It makes Louis grin, him pushing his face into his bicep so he can calm the fuck down. 

Last night he’d even come back late, fucking half one, but Zayn wasn’t back yet, the back of the van cold and empty. He’s not sure when Zayn had showed up, but Louis figures it’s a good enough sign that he even did, didn’t want to spend the night who the fuck knows where.

Louis rolls back again, twitching his hips in a slow roll until he can hear Zayn’s breath catch, the sharp inhale he gets whenever Louis wakes him up like this. A couple more rolls, and then Zayn’s hand is on Louis’s hip, squeezing. 

“Lou,” he breathes out, his breath warm against the back of Louis’s neck. Louis holds still, waits until Zayn’s grip goes tight again like maybe he wants Louis to move, to take advantage. Louis rolls then, swinging his leg over fast so he can squeeze Zayn’s skinny hips between his thighs. 

Zayn’s eyes are barely open. “Lou,” he says again, “tryin’ to sleep.”

“Sleeping people don’t talk, so,” Louis leans forward, tugging at the collar of Zayn’s t-shirt so he can get his tongue on the dip of his collarbone. Zayn’s hands are at his hips then, his touch light. 

“I’m talking in my sleep,” he murmurs, tipping his head back. Louis takes advantage of the column of Zayn’s neck being exposed, licking there. He rocks forward, pushes so his cock ruts up against Zayn’s, the two of them groaning at the same time. Nice. In sync. 

“C’mon,” Louis urges, undeterred when Zayn twitches away, “Zayn, c’mon.”

“Louis, this feels,” Zayn licks at his lips, Louis watching his face carefully when he moves enough to snake his hand down Zayn’s trackies, thumbing at the head of Zayn’s cock. 

“Good, yeah? Or,” Louis gathers the wet from Zayn’s tip on his thumb, reaching up to lick at it once he sees that Zayn’s got his eyes open, watching Louis warily. “Better than good, seems like.”

“I just,” Zayn props himself up on his elbows, reaching down to bat Louis’s hand away when he goes for Zayn’s cock again, adjusting himself. “I don’t think we should, just now.”

“But,” Louis sighs, feeling the frustration rise in his veins, “what’s the big deal, yeah? It’s been ages, Zayn.” 

Zayn swallows. Louis watches his adam’s apple bob up and down with the force of it. Louis thinks it’s been enough time for them to just get on with it, especially when Zayn’s fingers flutter up, a light touch along the line of Louis’s cock, straining through his joggers. Louis waits.

“No,” Zayn says finally, his voice low like it’s hurting him to talk.

“It’s nothing, Zayn,” Louis grinds down into Zayn, watching how his eyelids flutter, “doesn’t mean a thing but how we get off.”

“Fuck off,” it’s still low, but it’s the most angry Louis thinks Zayn’s ever sounded, Louis suddenly on his back as Zayn sits up, running his hands through his hair and making a choked off noise. 

“What?” Louis’s not sure how, but he’s yelling suddenly, “I break you in, and now you’re free to fuck whoever, Liam or Harry or some shit?”

Zayn’s head snaps up, and his breathing is ragged. Or Louis’s is. Both of them are, fuck it. 

“No,” Zayn says, “I’m not, Louis. And you know why. You know why--” he stops, his voice sounding thick like he’s forcing himself to continue. “I thought--”

“What did you think, that we were going to hold hands in some meadow just because I dicked you down good once?” Louis watches Zayn carefully to see that his words have maximum effect, even if it feels like he’s pulling out his fingernails one by one to say it. “We are what we are Zayn, and I don’t fucking know _why_ you want anything to change.”

“Because it did change, Lou,” Zayn’s eyes are wet, and he won’t even do Louis the favor of raising his voice to match, “or maybe I just had it wrong, all along. Or maybe you did. I dunno.”

“I--” Louis flips through his brain, unclear why he can’t find any words, wants to tell Zayn to fuck off forever, wants to say something like _I’ll snog you senseless if that means you’d stay_ , even though he knows he’d never be able to make himself be okay with it. That he doesn’t really want to.

“I gotta go,” Zayn’s crawling over him, gone so quick Louis could almost imagine he’s still asleep. Some fucking nightmare. 

**

Louis isn’t expecting it when Zayn gets back just after nine, even though he’d stayed pretty close to the van all day just in case. Had figured it’d be a few days before he’d see Zayn again, maybe even a week. It cheers Louis, how even though Zayn smiles at him tightly when he climbs in, he’s smiling all the same. He steals Louis’s cigarette immediately, taking a long drag. 

“Louis, about this morning, yeah?” Zayn meets his eyes. “Sorry things went to shit.”

Louis grins. He knew Zayn would come around. “‘s okay, mate.”

“I think it’s like, good if we…” Zayn looks like he’s trying to find the right words, like he does sometimes. 

“Yeah,” Louis scoots closer to Zayn, feels this sense of relief wash over him. Zayn gets it, gets that they can go back to before, fucking around and getting off, just the two of them. Against everyone, against everything. That no one else will get it like they do. 

“Soz,” Zayn breathes out, “tomorrow…”

“Nah,” Louis turns, nosing along Zayn’s jaw, “tonight.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Zayn takes a deep breath, it shuddering between them. Shaky. It makes Louis sit back, take in the way Zayn is looking at him like he’s just choked Louis out or something. His eyes look wet, like they did in the morning.

“What?” Louis asks, at the same time Zayn opens his mouth, says--

“I’m moving out.” Zayn meets Louis’s eyes like he’s waiting for him to say something, but what the fuck is Louis meant to say. “With Harry. Just...as mates, okay? Before you start.”

“You’re shitting me,” Louis whispers. He curls up, wrapping his arms around his knees so he doesn’t touch Zayn. 

“We can’t keep going on like this if--” Zayn’s eyes flick up to meet his, the side of his mouth twitching like it could go either way, be a smile or a frown, “we don’t want the same, Louis. I think I like, love you, a bit? Or something like that. And you keep like… _fucking_ , I just can’t. It hurts. Makes me feel so shit I can’t breathe, sometimes.”

Louis stares at him, _love you_ ringing in his ears. He’s so bloody angry he could...fuck. Zayn’s ruining it. Ruining everything. All because he went and got sentimental when things could have been perfect. As close to perfect as Louis’s ever felt. 

“I don’t think it’s supposed to go that way.” Zayn shrugs, biting his lip. “Soz, but I can’t keep not saying it, can’t keep on. Don’t really know what you want. I’m gonna, like. Stay tonight. Just. Unless you tell me to go.”

Zayn’s just babbling on at this point, talkative like he gets when he’s high except here he is, stone fucking cold sober and serving Louis this raft of shit. 

“It’s fine,” Louis shrugs, not wanting to give Zayn anything more than that, “stay.” 

“Alright, Lou.” 

It’s fucked, boxing out the back of the van like always, silence filling up the space. Zayn packs up his shit in fits and starts, only one bag other than his rucksack he came in with. One bag in a year. 

Zayn falls asleep first, like he always does. Louis finishes off the last of the weed, watching Zayn sleep just like he did when he first spotted him. He takes a moment to really fucking hate himself for being such a shit and ruining everything. Knows that if he just --

It is what it is.

He looks again at Zayn. The biggest part of him, at least, is glad that it’s finally over. It’s fucking exhausting, this thing like love or whatever Zayn wants to label it. At the end of the day, it’s easier to be out for yourself, anyway. 

Zayn’s moving around quietly when Louis wakes up, and Louis feels fucked. He’d hoped that he would have slept right through it, could wake up and have it be done. He can try, anyway, not moving and keeping his breathing even, although he knows that Zayn could be quieter, that he wants Louis to get up.

It’s ages before the door opens. 

“Louis,” Zayn says softly, and Louis feels Zayn’s fingers at his hip. “Louis.”

He doesn’t move. Zayn sighs. The air is cold with the door open.

“Thanks, Louis.” 

The door closes. Louis can hear Zayn’s footsteps walking away outside, and he turns over to reach under his head, closing his fingers around the t-shirt he’d nicked from Zayn’s things. The _Yes_ is nearly worn off at this point, so Zayn wouldn’t fucking want it anyway.


	3. which brings us back to the hero's shoulders and a gentleness that comes

Harry’s already made him a copy of the key by the time Zayn knocks on the door, flinging it open and holding it up triumphantly.

“Zayn!” Harry’s grinning, which almost makes Zayn feel worse, like. Proper worse. He just keeps thinking about it, how Louis had looked like he’d punched him when he said it. Said everything, really. He knows Louis didn’t wake up and say good-bye on purpose. Because he knew it would hurt. Zayn wonders if Louis knew that Zayn was already hurting so much that more just felt like a welcome addition. Like it was nothing.

Louis would’ve asked him to stay if he wanted it enough. Could have. But he didn’t, so Zayn’s not gonna stay. Not like that. 

“It’s a nice place,” Zayn sets his bags down, looking around at the small flat. Harry was right; it’s not as nice as Liam’s flat, but there’s something about it. Probably down to the fact Harry lives there, Zayn supposes. There’s a patterned sofa and mismatched furniture about the sitting area, and there’s a surprisingly open kitchen, chairs and poufs strewn all over. “Eclectic’s a good word for it, Harry.”

“Thanks!” Harry’s still bouncing about like he’s got springs or something, instead of his long legs. “I pick up stuff when I’m able or when I find it, yeah? I had tried to make things match when I first moved in, but then I just...I got impatient, with it being empty.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Zayn walks around in a circle with Harry following him like a puppy, pausing to glance inside the loo. It’s a decent size too -- Zayn can’t believe he won’t have to rely on Eleanor or Liam for a shower anymore, or shops all about to go to the toilet. “I realize, I didn’t ask, about --”

“Oh, right,” Harry smiles, rocking back and forth, “allow me to show you our bedroom.”

“Harry,” Zayn looks, he only sees one door, “you got two beds in there?” Zayn’s not opposed to sleeping in bed with someone; in fact, he welcomes it, gotten too used to someone being there. 

“Just wait,” Harry swings open the door with his arm flung to the side, “voila!”

“Harry,” Zayn starts laughing, feeling tired and stretched far too thin to process anything. Harry’s got a bed that dominates the whole room; it’s this giant thing with some ornate headboard. Like Zayn’s only seen in a magazine. 

“This,” Harry steps toward the bed reverently, “is Penelope. She’s the one thing Caz let me take with me.” 

“Probably too many memories.” Zayn’s been around Harry enough at this point to know that he doesn’t go stiff and off when he talks about Caroline. It makes Zayn wonder, gives him this weird sense of hope for himself, one day. “Don’t know many people who name their bed.”

Harry’s already lying back on the bed, his hair spread out around his head and his eyes closed, a wide smile on his face.

“I’m not many people, Zayn,” Harry says, “you look tired, so kick off your boots and have a bit of a cuddle and a nap.”

“Well,” Zayn hedges. Harry’s right; he’s knackered and wants to sleep for years, or at least until he can wake up and forget everything. He and Harry haven’t even talked about money or anything, Zayn just tracking him down and asking him if he really wanted a roommate, Harry making plans before he’d even realized Zayn was trying his very best not to break down right there on the street corner. 

He’d wrapped him up in a hug then, too, Zayn allowing it just because he needed it. Just like now, when Zayn toes off his boots and shrugs out of his jacket before crawling into the too big bed -- Harry wraps his hand around Zayn’s elbow and pulls gently until they’re squished up in the middle.

“Sleep,” Harry’s voice sounds far away as Zayn’s eyes close; it’s a fucking comfortable bed. “When you wake up I’ll make you a cheese toastie. I just gotta get some cheese. And bread.”

**

It’s hard. It was only a year, but Zayn feels like every day he has to relearn everything. Harry helps. Liam helps. 

“I know we’ve gone over this,” Liam’s saying while the three of them are squished together on his sofa watching Friends reruns, Harry taking up too much space like usual, “but Zayn, I could get you a gig.”

“No.” Zayn knows what Liam’s doing. He wonders if Harry’s said anything, how Zayn’s not been out yet. He just doesn’t want to find a new spot. He doesn’t want to accidentally see Louis. He doesn’t want to go on some shit escorting gig that makes him feel like his skin is too tight.

“But,” Liam’s voice is gentle, something Zayn’s realized he does when he’s afraid Zayn’s about to bolt or something, “just to see.”

“Liam, I feel proper left out,” Harry’s pouting, Zayn can tell without looking, “I’m _right here_.”

“I can’t help it that you’ve been blacklisted from most of them, Harry.” Liam leans over and pokes at Zayn’s ear, and when Zayn looks at him over Harry’s sprawled out frame he rolls his eyes and winks. Or, Zayn thinks it’s a wink he’s aiming for anyway. 

“Heyyyy,” Harry tips his head back, twisting to meet both their eyes, “not because of anything I _did_.” 

“Of course not,” Liam sighs. “Harry, I was trying to--”

“To make me feel terrible, good job Liam.” Harry laughs, reaching out to pat at both of their knees before standing, Zayn surprised that he only wobbles a little bit. “I’m dying for a wee, then Zayn and I should get home.”

“Alright,” Zayn leans back as Harry ambles off, closing his eyes and listening to the dull sound of the telly. “Thanks again for dinner, Liam.”

“Wasn’t much,” Liam clears his throat. “Erm. Soz, about pushing you.”

“Mate,” Zayn opens his eyes so he can turn his head and look at Liam, who’s biting at his lip so hard Zayn’s sure he must be drawing blood. “I’ll just keep saying no, but it’s fine.”

“You sure?” Liam drops his voice, “I know that you’ve….I just. I know. How it can go. With him?”

“Liam. Stop.” It’s odd, because it’s not that Zayn feels like he’s trapped in by what Liam’s saying, not that Liam’s overstepping. He just. Doesn’t much want to think about things.

Liam shrugs, chewing at his lip again. “Okay. Hey,” he grins then, his eyes crinkling up, “you two could stay, if you want?”

Zayn allows himself a soft laugh. “Harry’s got a flat, Liam. It’s not like…” Zayn catches himself. “You know,” he finishes, feeling like a twat.

“I know.” Liam punches Zayn’s shoulder. “Force of habit, I suppose.”

Later, when they’re walking back to the flat, Harry finishes telling a story about some bloke he saw busking near the market who sounded brilliant and pauses at a kerb, rocking back and forth. He glances over at Zayn.

“I didn’t want you to get sad,” he says, his eyes wide in his face. “Soz if you wanted to stay later. Liam means well, he really does.”

“Oh.” Zayn had just thought that -- well, that Harry was being Harry. He feels an odd rushing feeling in his head, this pressure like he’s got to blink. 

“I know you’re sad, and that Louis made you sad, and I don’t want to ask but you can tell me if you want and if you need to take a break from going out I can cover it for this month, and --” Harry takes a deep, deep breath, like he’s gasping for it. He opens his mouth to continue, but Zayn reaches out, does it without thinking, to squeeze at Harry’s shoulder.

“Hazza,” he says, “thanks.”

“For what?” Harry’s eyebrows draw up like he’s puzzling something out. 

“Dunno,” Zayn is knackered all of a sudden, full stop. Can’t sort through his thoughts anymore. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

“Yeah?” Harry’s face splits into a grin so deep his dimples look like they must hurt. He links his arm through Zayn’s. “To home!”

**

Zayn’s been dreading it, if he’s being entirely honest, but he can’t keep on. It’s starting to bother him, a bit, the fact that he’s not contributing anything. Or that Harry seemed like he was hanging about at the nights, even if they’d already had plans with Liam, until one night when he spent about half an hour apologizing that he had to go out. Zayn had figured, he couldn’t keep on skipping it any more. 

That night Harry didn’t come back for hours. Zayn hates how a little piece of him panicked when he’d woken up at half one and he was alone in the giant bed. That part will stop eventually, he keeps telling himself.

But now. It wasn’t so bad, he had decided to go off to a place a ways away, where he’d stumbled on ages before. Louis had hated it because it wasn’t near enough a KFC, was a much longer walk back to the van. Made enough that he feels like he can earn his keep, in Harry’s little weird flat with its sick bed that’s too big for a palace, let alone the space they’ve got. 

“Haz,” Zayn slides a wad of money at him across the table the next morning as they work their way through a box of Weetabix, “for me, for rent.”

“I already said,” Harry looks put out, trying to push it back to Zayn, “first month free, it’s a special. It’s only been three weeks. That’s not a month.”

“I’d just,” Zayn glances down at the table, where last week Harry’d encouraged him to carve out his name and some other doodle things after Zayn had mentioned he wished he had money for a sketchbook or something. “I’d feel better, like? Knowing I’m helping out?”

“It’s helpful to me that I’m not living alone anymore,” Harry shrugs, but he glances up at Zayn before taking the money, “but alright.”

“Thanks, Harry.” Zayn exhales, it coming out a touch too loud. “For understanding.”

Zayn probably should have realized that Harry gave it up far too easily, because two days later there he is, grinning and shoving a new mobile in Zayn’s face, far too early in the morning.

“For you!” Harry’s bouncing now, causing Zayn’s vision to swim like he’s gone dizzy. “Happy Thursday, Zayn. Happy mobile day!”

“Harry,” Zayn groans, closing his fingers around the phone. “I’m not taking this.”

“But it’s okay,” Harry shakes his head, still jostling Zayn about, “since you bought it.”

“I bought--” Zayn sits up. “Harry, that was for _rent_.”

“You gave it to me, so _technically_ I’m allowed to do with it what I want.” Harry shrugs, finally settling down and grinning, his knee pressing into Zayn’s stomach. 

“Harry…” Zayn trails off, rolling so he can look up at Harry better. “I don’t know if I can take it.”

“You can,” Harry sounds resolute, “you don’t have a mobile at all now, Zayn, and it makes me worry. I talked to Liam, and he agreed.”

“Liam didn’t give you any money for this, did he?” Zayn just...he doesn’t want to take charity from anyone anymore. A meal or a film, sure, he’s realized that for people like Liam, people like Harry, that’s just sharing between mates. More makes Zayn feel off, like he’s awkward and unsure what to do next. What’s expected of him.

Harry rolls his eyes. “No, Zayn. It’s not a fancy phone anyway, don’t know if there’s Snake II on it even.”

Oh. “Guess I can learn T9 again,” Zayn tries, laughing a bit to test it out. It feels pretty good.

“Brilliant! And I already programmed Liam’s number in there, and mine. So you’re all set.”

“I’ve got a couple of regulars’ numbers I saved, in my rucksack.” Zayn knows that Harry will grin at that, and he doesn’t disappoint. 

“See?” Harry asks, launching himself so he’s draped over Zayn like a wiggly blanket. “I feel better already, don’t you, Zayn?”

“Yeah,” Zayn is surprised that he means it. “I do, a bit.”

**

_Park 2day?? :)_

When Liam’s text comes, Zayn’s on his back on Harry’s sofa with the window pushed open all the way; now that the warm air of spring has finally taken over all the time, he feels less shit when he smokes while Harry’s out. He tries not to, because the first time he’d lit up without thinking Harry’s forehead had creased up immediately. He didn’t say anything, but it was still enough to make Zayn stub it out immediately. Waste of a good cig. 

He looks at his phone. The other thing about the weather warming up is that he’s been going out of his way to avoid the park, knows that Louis’ll be there most days, angling for a pick-up game of footie with the people he’s only friends with when it’s convenient, when he wants to blow off some steam. The thought makes Zayn take a long drag of his cigarette, too many thoughts creeping up in the back of his head now that he’s got his distance from Louis. He just wonders, about a lot of things. 

_Not really in the mood for the park, sry_

Zayn feels a bit shit when he sends it, tries to think of something he could offer instead. Harry should be back soon; maybe they could let him pick, even if it means flying kites or going to that same restaurant they’ve been stared out of three times now. Liam replies right away.

_Noooo the other one nearer to me! Southwark ? Think you took Loki there w me_

And. Oh. Zayn thinks that maybe he should feel more uncomfortable that Liam knows why Zayn said no, even though he’s not asked anything specific in the couple of months gone past since...since the end of it, Zayn supposes. He mostly appreciates it, how Liam’s easy about those things. Right after, before he’d even left, Zayn had assumed that Liam was overstepping, crowding into Zayn’s headspace when it was too full for even himself in there.

But. He’s realized, now. Liam’s just Liam. Him and Harry both, they’re out with it in a way that’s like they live on the outside all the time. Zayn watches them sometimes, feels like he’s studying or something. He could never, but he likes it. Almost makes him feel settled. Consistent. 

_Alright, Hazza’s home in a few, meet you after?_

**

“Liaaaaaaaaaam!” Harry’s already bounding over to where Liam’s trying to toss a ball to Loki, “we’re here!”

“Cheers!” Liam calls out, a grin crinkling up his face when Zayn finally gets close enough, Harry already knelt down to scratch at Loki’s stomach. “It’s proper nice, think I might even get a run in.”

Zayn can’t stop his nose from wrinkling up. “A run?”

“Zayn’s lungs can’t function,” Harry’s leaning down, like he’s stage whispering a secret to Loki, “‘s all the smoking he does. Running would kill him.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn flips Harry off, rolling his eyes at the continuation of Harry’s lecture after he’d caught Zayn out with his cigarettes when he got in. “I can run, I just choose not to run.”

“I smoke too,” Liam shrugs, “so that’s not a very good argument, Harry.”

“Yeah but,” Harry leans back, Loki scrambling around to settle in his lap, “you don’t do it like this, like,” Harry pushes the tips of his index fingers together, “lighting one with the other. No end in sight.”

“You saw me do that _once_ ,” Zayn sits down next to Harry while Liam starts laughing. Zayn reaches out, scratching Loki under the chin how he likes before stealing him from Harry outright, Loki wiggling wildly and licking at Zayn’s hand.

“Oi!” Harry pouts, “you dog thief. That was my _therapy_.”

“You need therapy now?” Liam asks, tossing down his hoodie so he’s just in his vest, stretching like he’s about to run in the Olympics or something.

“Yes,” Harry nods, “it is very stressful, to hang out with you two. Loki is how I’m able to survive.”

“Watch it,” Liam rolls his eyes at Zayn when he leans down to balance as he stretches out his leg, “or I won’t tell you about the call I got today, think it’s a gig you can do as well.”

“Wait, what?” Harry sits up, “what is it?”

Liam laughs, “want to join me on my run? I can fill you in.”

“ _Yes_ , I’m so glad I wore my trainers,” Harry stands, flailing about in what Zayn assumes is his version of Liam’s stretches, “it’s been shit lately, with Nick out of town.”

“He’s still in Ibiza?” Liam shakes his head. “Harry, don’t you ever wonder if he’s like, erm, paying you to be his boyfriend or some such?” Zayn laughs, hard, at the indignant look on Harry’s face.

“What do you call what you do then, Leemo?” Harry shoots Zayn a look like he expects him to defend him, but Zayn just holds up his hands and shakes his head. He’s learned pretty quick not to get in between Liam and Harry, the two of them reminding him of his sisters in the backseat of the family car more often than not. Even that doesn’t hurt to think about.

“I do it once or twice with the same person,” Liam holds up his hand like he’s about to start ticking things off, “you’re on his arm at every do he goes to, it seems like. It’s like he’s your weird boss?”

“The…” Harry’s face screws up, “...intricacies of my arrangement are beyond you, my dear mate.” He takes off then suddenly, arms and legs akimbo as he yells, “try and catch me, Liam!”

“The _what_?” Liam’s off behind Harry then, after a quick glance at Zayn with a bemused smile on his face, “Harry, the _what_?”

Zayn watches them run about the path snaking around the edge of the park, can hear even clear across the pond in the middle that they’re still yelling at each other. He settles so he’s solidly in a warm patch of sunlight, Loki sprawled out in his lap and looking catatonic.

“They’re a couple of twats, yeah Loki?” Zayn runs his finger along the soft edge of Loki’s ear. Loki doesn’t do anything in response, warm in Zayn’s lap, and he squints up at the sun, looks over to where Liam’s shoving at Harry’s shoulders as they run, grabbing him at the last minute so he won’t topple over. 

**

Zayn shoves his glasses up his nose as he leans over the counter, Liam going on about one of his gigs at the table.

“Sorry, what?” Zayn laughs, turning so he’s facing Liam, who’s got his feet up on one of the poufs Harry’s got strewn about. 

“Right? This lady was about to climb into the bin to hide from her ex bloke. _Give us a boost, love_ is what she said to me.” Liam can barely get it out, he’s laughing so hard. 

“I thought you were there so she wouldn’t be afraid to see him,” Zayn leans back, “was she disappointed in you, Liam?”

“Dunno mate,” Liam shakes his head, “I just know that the second he showed up she just,” Liam makes a gesture like he’s shoving his hand forward in a straight line, “straight for the bin.”

“Poor soul.” Zayn pauses, because it hits him then; he wonders if he’d be jumping into a bin if he ever saw Louis out on the street. He takes a deep breath to try and cover it, but it hangs in the air instead, shaky and loud. He doesn’t look at Liam, who’s gone silent before rustling around like he’s moving about.

The air around him changes as Liam steps in closer, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. “You alright?”

“‘m fine,” Zayn shrugs. “Just...I was just thinking of something else, s’pose.”

“That can happen,” Liam says, in that reasonable tone he gets. When Zayn glances up, he looks thoughtful. “Isn’t it crazy how it goes, you’ll be right as rain and then your mind just...fucks you up a little bit?”

“It’s pretty shit,” Zayn allows, relaxing when Liam laughs.

“So what _is_ for dinner anyway? I spy some Wotsits, so that’s a good start for a lads night in.” Liam steps back, settling down at the table again with a smile so wide Zayn feels a bit more relaxed.

“It’s so weird, but great?” Harry comes out the loo in a billow of steam, only wearing a towel knotted low at his waist. That’s definitely something Zayn’s learned to barely blink at, the fact that Harry has no problems getting his kit off in front of others. “Pot noodle and Wotsits. You’ll see. Zayn’s really clued me in there.”

“Pot noodle _and_ Wotsits?” Liam looks like he’s mulling it over for a moment before his face splits into a wide smile. “I proper love both those things, I bet it’s amazing.”

“I mean, it’s nothing like the dinners you put on, Liam,” Zayn watches Liam’s smile get even bigger. “Harry and I are on a budget right now.”

“We are being RESPONSIBLE,” Harry yells from the bedroom, “even if it’s something amazing.”

“He’s mad I told him he shouldn’t buy a new hat when he just bought one two weeks ago,” Zayn explains to Liam, who looks confused.

“Another hat?” Liam starts laughing, calling out, “I agree with Zayn, Harry.”

“I feel persecuted,” Harry appears, mostly dressed and hair dripping everywhere. “And starving. Zaaaaayn,” Harry drapes himself, wet hair and all, over Zayn’s back, Zayn unable to shake him off, “when will my dinner be ready?”

“Sooner, if you get off,” Zayn glances back over his shoulder, his chin bumping the top of Harry’s head, and Harry dutifully steps back, climbing up on Liam instead.

“Oi!” Liam laughs as he tries to untangle himself, “better hurry up, Zayn.”

“On it,” Zayn reaches for the Wotsits. “You two set the table, make it proper.”

“What, no,” from the sounds Liam’s making he’s still struggling with Harry, “no, I eat it with a fork.”

“This is definitely a spoon meal, Liam,” Harry comes up behind Zayn, digging his chin into Zayn’s shoulder. “Don’t you agree?”

“It _is_ a bit weird,” Zayn turns around and catches Liam frowning. “What? It is!”

“Are you afraid of spoons, Li?” Harry reaches around Zayn for the forks as he says it, grabbing one from the drawer anyway. Zayn elbows him as he passes, Harry making a sound like he’s dying.

“Maybe a bit, but,” Liam laughs, “hey, you can’t call me weird when you’re making something just as weird.”

“Fair enough,” Zayn shrugs, finds himself smiling. It’s something that he and Louis had, once, at El’s when she wasn’t home, Louis eating three pot noodles alone just because they’d gotten so high beforehand it seemed what to do. Louis had called it shit even when he was reaching for more. 

Zayn’s been smoking up less; hadn’t really realized how much he was doing it with Louis, something always _there_ for him to smoke or take or drink or whatever. He’s not got the budget for it now anyway, not now that there’s rent and real food to deal with. Sleeping in a real bed, eating on the regular. No matter how his head feels, Zayn knows that he feels better in a lot of other ways. 

Maybe those ways matter, too.

&&&

“Please tell me you’re making me a sandwich too,” Harry leans over Zayn’s shoulder when he gets in the flat, watching Zayn reach for the pickle, “I’m starved.”

“If you ask nice,” Zayn nudges Harry with his elbow, stepping around him to grab a knife, “maybe I will.”

“Zaaaaayn,” Harry grins and leans his hip against the counter, watching Zayn work, “will you please make me a sandwich?”

Zayn chuckles, “yeah, alright.”

Zayn’s quiet then, and Harry hums as he reaches for an apple, taking a big bite. It’s been a few months now, living with Zayn, and Harry can barely remember what it was like to be alone so much. It was silent, a lot, and it bothered him. Now, though. Sometimes Zayn gets in his quiet times, like this, but it’s a good quiet. Not a sad quiet. Not a lonely quiet.

“Had a bit extra,” Zayn shrugs, breaking the silence, “so I picked up a few things at the store. Got those apples you like.”

“Appreciate it,” Harry speaks with his mouth full, “I don’t think we get enough fruit and veg in our diets, Zayn.”

“Dunno,” Zayn pauses, looking thoughtful, “I think I’m doing loads better than…”

He trails off, and Harry tries to decide if this is one of those times when Zayn’s about to zoom into one of his unsettled moods, in his head about whatever happened with Louis. He also thinks about all the times he’d go for food with the two of them, before. How the best thing Zayn would ever eat for himself is Weetabix. 

“Your color is like…” Harry strokes his fingertip down Zayn’s nose, laughing when Zayn’s forehead wrinkles up, “you look healthier. You’d be even _more_ healthier too if like…”

“I’m not gonna quit smoking, Haz,” Zayn rolls his eyes, Harry glad he’s worn him down enough that he doesn’t get stroppy about it like he used to, “anyway, what did you end up doing with Nick?”

“Oh,” Harry finishes his apple, tossing the core in the bin, “wasn’t with Nick, was at Jeff’s hotel.”

Zayn frowns. “Which one is Jeff?”

“He’s one of my...I guess it’s regular, or,” semi-regular, anyway. Jeff wasn’t someone he knew from Caz, anyway, “I see him whenever he’s in town, like. He’s American.”

“American,” Zayn widens his eyes, “how fancy.”

“He’s a regular bloke, just pretty rich, I think,” Harry ignores how Zayn’s taking the piss, “I’d make more off him if he lived around here, but I think like, my absence makes his dick grow harder, or however that would go.”

Zayn stares at him for a moment before laughing hard, his eyes crinkling up. It makes Harry’s heart swell up, to see it. Even if it’s at his expense. 

“Dunno if that’s the way the saying goes, Hazza,” Zayn chokes out, pressing his hand to his chest like he’s about to keel over.

“I just mean,” Harry points out, “that he tips me a lot since it’s so long in between.”

“Sure,” Zayn’s still laughing, shaking his head. “Whatever you say.”

“He bit my lip though, got a bit too excited,” Harry swipes his tongue at the sore spot, poking it and frowning. “I hate when that happens.”

“Wait,” Zayn stops laughing, fixing Harry with a hard stare. “You kiss them? Like, a proper snog?”

“Wait,” Harry says in the same tone, “you _don’t_?”

“No, Harry, I don’t snog all the blokes I toss or suck off.” Zayn still has a look of disbelief on his face. “Do you?”

“Sometimes, if they go for it,” Harry shrugs. It’s just a snog. “But definitely for people like Nick or Jeff. Wait, what about that one lady you see sometimes, the one you said you met at the do with Liam?”

“Rebecca,” Zayn shrugs, “and no, I don’t. I’ve never. I--” Zayn has a look on his face like he’s trapped in his head again. 

“Hey,” Harry wants to calm him down, taking a step forward and bracketing Zayn in with his arms, “‘s okay like, you’re sort of like a proper Pretty Woman, yeah?”

“Wait, what?” Zayn leans back. 

“The film? Zayn, it’s like a how-to for our profession.” Harry laughs when Zayn pulls a face. “What, it is. But Zayn, like, c’mon, it’s no big deal, really.”

Harry presses his lips to the side of Zayn’s mouth, carefully, and Zayn goes still before laughing softly. 

“See?” Harry does it again, this time like a proper kiss. “See?” Harry licks along the seam of Zayn’s lips the next time he goes for it, Zayn kissing him back tentatively. It’s slow, but Harry wants to let Zayn know, he’s proper ace at it, really brilliant, a real sick snogger. He reaches up to thread his fingers though Zayn’s hair, angling his head so he can make it go a little deeper. 

Zayn pulls back after a few moments, untangling himself from Harry and breathing heavily. 

“See?” Harry reaches around Zayn for his sandwich, “you’re great at that, Zayn. You should really rethink your no snog stance!”

“Don’t think so,” Zayn says softly, turning around to face the counter, “but thanks.”

It’s only after Harry looks at him, halfway through his sandwich, when he realizes just how shellshocked Zayn looks. Shit. Harry hopes he hasn’t bollocksed it up. 

**

Zayn’s been quiet all night. Just doodled on an advert that came in the post while Harry told him all about his evening with Jeff. Fiddled with his phone and just said “oh, it’s Liam” when Harry asked who he was texting. 

Harry feels really, really awful. He was just trying to help and he broke Zayn again. The worst is that Zayn’s not even acting upset at him, even. Had smiled and all when he’d gone to bed. Harry tosses and turns, finally giving up and leaning over to poke at Zayn’s arm.

“Zayn?” He whispers, poking at him again. “Zayner?”

Zayn turns his head, his eyes bleary when he opens them. “How long have I been asleep, Harry?”

“Um,” Harry looks down at his watch, “ten minutes?”

“Fuck,” Zayn blinks at him, “you okay?”

“No,” Harry says immediately, then sits up fully, “I mean, I’m okay, but you’re not, and I’m so so sorry.”

“Are you calling me sorry?” Zayn sounds tired and confused, his forehead wrinkling up. “I’m not following, Haz.”

“Just, I snogged you, and now you’re sad again.” Harry takes a deep breath before continuing, Zayn still lying there with an odd look on his face, “I thought. Like, kissing should make people _less_ sad, not more sad, and you’ve been all quiet tonight and I don’t want you to move out and I’m sorry.”

He trails off when Zayn’s smiling suddenly, reaching up to ruffle at Harry’s hair, his touch light. 

“Hazza,” he laughs, “it’s okay.”

“Is it though?” Harry knows he’s pushing, but he can’t help it, even though Zayn is still laughing so Harry feels a bit better. 

“I suppose,” Zayn takes a deep breath, “wasn’t expecting it. Should have, though, you slag.”

“Heyyyy,” Harry grins though, sliding over to curl up next to Zayn, slinging his arm across Zayn’s chest. “I just don’t want to ruin this, Zayn, you’re like, my best mate. I just only want to help you.”

“I shouldn’t have been so odd about it, I guess I--” Zayn’s chest moves under Harry’s arm when he takes a deep breath, “was probably thinking about the last person I snogged.”

“Oh.” Harry figures he’s talking about Louis. He sort of got the hint that they used to get off together sometimes. He wants to ask, what Louis did to ruin their friendship, but then Zayn’s speaking again.

“You’re my best mate too,” Zayn says, quietly, “you and Liam have been….I dunno. I know I’ve been shit. Thanks.”

Harry snuggles in closer. “I like you even when you’re shit, Zayn.”

“Go to sleep, idiot,” Zayn laughs. Harry reaches for the duvet to pull around him both, relaxing until Zayn kicks at him and starts mumbling about snoring. 

**

“Liam,” Harry takes a sip of his drink, watching their clients walk over to the loo, “you’re a bit off tonight.”

“What?” Liam looks up from his phone which he’s got hidden under the table. It seems like every time his client’s distracted Liam’s at it. Harry’s never seen Liam like that before, normally he’s everyone’s favorite.

“Harry, seriously?” Liam looks concerned for a moment, a frown on his face, “did she say something?”

“No,” Harry shakes his head, “I think it’s just me who noticed.” It’s been harder for Liam to find him things he can go to with him, lately, seems like too many people know him from Caz and it’s just. It’s fine, but now Harry’s accidentally being mean to Liam just like he was with Zayn a couple of weeks ago, feels uncomfortable with it. 

Besides, it’s not like Liam’s date hasn’t been pleased all night, every time Liam adjusts his tie and grins at her. Liam really is brilliant at it. 

“Okay,” Liam looks relieved. “Was just, these serviettes are folded up a bit like Cap’s shield? I was telling Zayn.”

He holds up his phone, waving it about. 

“Oh.” Harry looks at his own place setting. It just looks like a normal one to him. He leans over to where Liam’s slipped his phone under the table again, a long line of texts with Zayn. Something about how the Hulk is gonna smash up a wedding and avenge...something. “Looks neat, Liam.”

“Zayn’s on a roll,” Liam’s eyes crinkle up with he grins, “it’s been hard not to laugh, suppose I should put it away. Oh,” Liam looks up, past Harry, “think they’re coming back.”

Harry watches him text Zayn _Soz mate g2g ttyl !!!x_ and slip his phone back into his pocket, leaning back when his date approaches. “There you are love, I was just about to search you out.”

She blushes, and Harry grins to himself, nodding when his own date asks him for another drink. He knows it’s good money, but sometimes these dos can be a bit tedious. 

While he’s waiting at the bar, he texts Zayn.

_Bored Z, tell me a story!_

_K_ is all Zayn replies, then _abt what?_

Harry sighs. Sometimes Zayn really is the worst. 

**

“Have another,” Nick urges, passing another shot to Harry while one of his friends, Harry thinks it’s George, laughs somewhere behind him. 

“Alright,” Harry shrugs, doing the shot mostly easily. Nick already had to hold him up on the way over here, hopes this is the last stop on the crawl. It’s been a bit since he’s even seen Nick, had to go out more this past week since his Jeff and wedding money ran out ages ago once Zayn reminded him the rent and electric were due on the same day. 

“Now,” Nick regards him seriously, the flashing lights of this particular club disorienting in the way Harry likes sometimes when he’s out like this. 

“Now what?” Harry grins, Nick’s teeth looking unnaturally white in the dark.

“We dance!” Nick tightens his grip around Harry’s wrist and pulls him into the throng of people, clapping his hands and throwing crazy shapes already. Harry laughs, trying to match his movements. It’s such a laugh, such easy money. Like it’s not even working.

“Hey,” Nick says in his ear, later, grinding against Harry in the sweaty mass of bodies, “extra in it for you if I can fuck you in the toilets.”

“Oh,” Harry laughs to cover up the odd feeling that trips up the back of his neck. It reminds him of how Nick had paid him before the night was over this time, tucking a wad of money in his back pocket the second they met up and making Harry feel off for a moment. 

“Extra,” Nick says again, his hand playing at Harry’s flies, “don’t wanna wait.”

“Of course,” Harry pushes the weirdness out of his mind. “But first,” he grins then, kissing Nick suddenly in time with the reverberating bass all around them. He waits for it to feel bad, like how Zayn says it is, but it’s just snogging. It’s not fucking in some crowded loo, it’s just Nick’s mouth on his, Harry’s mind in a million different places at once. It feels good and Nick likes it, his hands everywhere at once. 

“One more dance,” Harry yells over the music when he pulls back, “then I’m all yours!”

**

Harry trips getting out of the bloke's SUV, stumbling a few steps before getting himself under control. He hears a slow clap from somewhere nearby, looks up to see Louis under a nearby lamp. It's weird seeing him here, unexpected almost, even though it shouldn't be. Harry's so used to seeing him with Zayn, probably. Never really knew them separately. Not ‘til now, anyway.

"6.8," Louis says as Harry bows.

"Are you scoring the blow job or the dismount?"

Louis's laugh rings out loud in the darkness, sounding like it's been startled out of him. "Jesus, Harry."

Harry winks, grinning when it makes Louis roll his eyes. Louis always looks like he's trying so hard not to smile.

"Been awhile," Harry says, maybe stupidly. "How've you been?"

"Fine, yeah." Louis sounds reluctant when he adds, "You?"

"Good. I'm good. Zayn too." Harry doesn't know why he's added that part, Louis's face going tight as soon as he says it. "And Liam. And Nick, I mean I hadn't seen him in ages but then I was out at a club with him a few nights back -- have you ever been to Mahiki? It's mental, like all these --"

"Who the fuck is Nick?" Louis asks.

"My friend. Well, client, I guess you'd call him, but like, we're friends, too."

Louis stares at him for what feels like a very long time. He gets that look Zayn gets sometimes, like he's backtracking through an entire conversation, trying to sort out when things went sideways. "Your friend?"

"Yeah, I've never told you about him?" Harry's stomach growls while he's talking. "Listen, you want to get some dinner? Or I know it's not dinnertime, it's like, later than that, but I didn't eat a proper dinner today so it still counts, right?"

"What? Now?"

Harry nods. Why not, right? Louis is probably hungry, too, and Zayn hadn't come out tonight so it's not like Harry's got to worry about sticking around for him. 

Louis thinks about it. "Yeah, alright."

"Sick." Harry pumps his fist in victory, making Louis laugh as they both head for the nearest place still open. It's a KFC, Louis grinning as soon as they step inside, ordering and claiming a booth while Harry debates over the menu.

"A salad?" Louis squawks when Harry finally joins him at the table.

"What?"

"Never in my life have I seen someone order a salad here. Didn't even know they sold them. Bet that one's been sitting in the back for months on end."

"It'd be rotten then so," Harry pokes his fork through the bowl, checking for gross bits, "probably not."

Louis rolls his eyes when Harry smiles at him. "So," he kicks Harry's shin under the table, "you were saying, your weird friend?"

"Oh, Louis? He's not that -- hey!" Harry flinches when a chip hits him square in the forehead. He leans across the table to dip it in Louis's cup of ketchup. "Cheers. But yeah. Nick's not weird, he's just. He likes to do weird stuff. Like this one time…"

Louis scoffs a lot while Harry tells him about a few of the parties he's been to with Grimmy, kicking him in the shin whenever he gets lost in his own rambling. Louis laughs a lot, too, and then counters with stories of his own regulars, the sort of blokes who drive around in circles until they spot Louis.

"He calls you _Kenneth_?" Harry thinks he's got lettuce lodged up his nose from laughing so hard. Zayn doesn't like to talk about this sort of stuff, always clams up whenever Harry or Liam start talking shop. And Liam just doesn't get it, not these parts of it anyway. 

"Says I remind him of grandson." Louis sticks out his tongue and shudders, grossed-out. "Pays double, though, so. Kenneth it is."

Harry wrinkles his nose. 

"It's really not that bad." Louis pushes to his feet, taking his and Harry's rubbish over to the bin. "Not like I'm wearing elephant costumes out in public."

"It was just the head," Harry corrects, following Louis to the door, "and no, I get it, it's just… You really don't look like a Kenneth."

Louis laughs loudly again, drawing glares from the KFC workers even though they're clearly leaving. 

"That was fun, thanks," Harry says as they walk slowly down the street. He bumps Louis's elbow with his own, feeling warm when Louis smiles back at him. "We should do it again sometime."

"I'm that way," Louis points in the opposite direction, towards where Harry knows the van's parked. "But yeah, sure. Sometime."

He leaves before Harry can say anything else, disappearing into the night like he's from one of Zayn's comic books. Harry sighs, waving goodbye at nothing, and then pulls out his phone to let Zayn know that he's on his way home. 

**

Harry shakes out his leg, annoyed that it’s gone pins and needles from being curled up for so long. 

“Lads,” he says, “my leg is dead, and I hope you’re happy.”

Zayn laughs, his eyes still on the screen, “no one said that you had to sit twisted up like a pretzel, Haz.”

“Do you need help?” Liam shifts, “could get up, if you need it.”

“Shake it,” Zayn says, “it’ll live again.”

“I _am_ shaking it,” Harry shudders at the prickly sensation traveling up his leg. “Thanks for the help, Zayn.”

Zayn shrugs, smiling. Harry’s not sure why he agreed to this film night anyway, all the old Batman films that are fine enough, but he could do with something different. No one wanted to watch any of _his_ suggestions. And now his leg is dead and neither of them care. 

“Harry,” Liam’s standing over him, “do you want some more water? I’ll go for you, if you want.”

“Thank you, _Liam_ ,” Harry moves so his head’s tipped over the arm of the chair, “and no thank you to Zayn.”

“I’m tuning you out, Haz,” Zayn pets at Loki in his lap, “because I’m enjoying myself.”

“You’re gonna be asleep soon,” Harry grins up at Liam when he returns with a full glass of water, “and then I’m gonna put stuff up your nose.”

“Mhmm,” Zayn hums, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “I’d like to see you try.”

“Lads,” Liam’s grinning at them both when he settles back next to Zayn, dropping his arm along the back of the sofa, “love a lads night.”

Harry laughs, feeling giddy. Sometimes Liam’s so sentimental it sets Harry off; makes him appreciate it all so much more. Not that he didn’t have mates before, but never like this, like they’re all a real team. 

“I think Alfred’s better than Batman,” Harry says, a pause in the room before Zayn and Liam start sputtering. 

Harry’s not sure when he fell asleep, just knows that it’s later and there’s a whole new film on now, a completely different Batman. He glances over and Liam’s still watching, Zayn passed out with his head on Liam’s shoulder. 

“Gotta wee,” Harry mumbles, Liam glancing over.

“Please not on my chair, Harry,” he grins at his own joke, Harry waiting until he’s walking by to flick at Liam’s ear.

“Oi,” Liam nods down at Zayn, “don’t wake him.”

“It would take much more than me going for a wee to wake him, and you know it,” Harry laughs, still keeping his movements more careful than normal just in case. 

He washes his hands quietly after, opening the door silently and about to mention it to Liam that he’s a proper ninja when he looks up, Liam’s face gone all concentrated and soft as he slowly pulls Zayn’s glasses off. His hand looks so big suddenly, and Harry can see that he’s biting at his lip as he does it, something flaring up in the back of Harry’s mind. 

He steps back into the loo to collect his thoughts. Thinks about how Zayn is around Liam, how Liam is around Zayn. The texts at the wedding a ways back. They’re mates, sure, but. Harry feels a little thrill when he thinks about it, what it could be. He wonders if he’s reading too much into it, if it’s too soon for Zayn or if it’s not soon enough, if he should go and start a game of truth or dare and get them to snog like in a film. 

Harry takes a deep breath. He’ll just….he’ll keep an eye on it.

This time when he comes out of the loo he makes a big noise, knocking his knuckles against the door frame. Liam’s just watching the film now, even though his hand is loosely knocking against Zayn’s shoulder.

“Needed that,” Harry stretches, “and my leg’s much better, thanks for asking Liam.”

“Good to hear,” Liam rolls his eyes, “oi, can you hand me my glass? I don’t wanna jostle him.”

“Sure Liam,” Harry hands it to him, waits while he takes a drink. “Yeah, we’ll just let him sleep.”

“Cheers,” Liam smiles.

&&&

“What’s that?”

Zayn doesn’t startle when Harry molds himself to the curve of Zayn’s back, just shifts slightly so Harry’s hair isn’t getting in his mouth anymore.

“A bird,” he says, finishing its wing. It’s uneven, squished in the margin. 

“Is that what you’re going to get then, do you think?”

Zayn shrugs, unsure. “Think so. Maybe.”

“Who’s going to get what?” Liam drops down next to them, sweaty from his jog. 

“Me and Zayn are getting new tattoos,” Harry says. 

“Eventually,” Zayn says, twisting out of Harry’s grip and reaching for his bag. 

“Oh, I don’t -- ” Liam says when Zayn offers him a half-empty water bottle.

“I’m done with it,” Zayn smiles, holding it out until Liam takes it, “it’s rubbish otherwise.”

“Cheers, then.” Liam smiles around the bottle, knocking most of it back in one go. 

His face is so red Zayn wonders how he’s not dead from heat exhaustion. The weather’s been unseasonably warm this week. Zayn resists the urge to fan the back of his top, get a breeze on his spine. All he’s done is lay about in the shade.

“Alright there, Styles?” Liam asks, and Zayn notices Harry’s frowning, his shirt pushed up nearly to his neck.

“I think two, yeah?” Harry flops around until he’s flat on his back between them, shirt still rucked up, fingers covering two spots high on his chest. Zayn doesn’t know why he hasn’t just pulled the neck down instead.

“Two?” Liam’s brow crinkles.

“Birds, yeah? One over this guy,” he taps the _love_ banner already there, “and another so it doesn’t look lopsided. Yeah?” He tips his head back, looking up at Zayn.

“Sure.”

“You’re covering that one up?”

“Yeah,” Harry twists to look at Liam, “figure, Caz is done with me, so I’m done with her. Right?”

“Oh, I,” Liam looks at Zayn like he’s got the right answer, but Zayn keeps his face neutral. He’s not here to judge anyone else’s ink, not even when the Bus 1 on his hand is burning. He’s thought about covering it up, has done ever since Harry started going on about inking over his banner. He doesn’t know if he could, though. Doesn’t know if he wants to at all. 

After a moment, Liam shrugs. “I guess, Harry. If that’s what you want.”

Harry tilts his chin, looking down at his own chest. “It is,” he says after a minute. Then he rolls into a sit, grinning at Zayn. “Should we go now?”

“Now?” Zayn chews on his lip.

“Zayn, that’s what the fund’s _for_. Literally. You’re the one who wrote _INK FUND_ on the jar.”

He is the one who’d done that, late one night after they’d pooled their money for rent and ended up with a tiny bit left over. Zayn still thinks they’d done the maths wrong, that it’s going to bite them in the arse next month.

“C’mon,” Harry nudges his arm, “Liam’ll come along, hold your hand if you want.”

“Harry.” That’s not why Zayn’s hedging. 

“I’ll come along regardless,” Liam says. “Been thinking about getting a new piece of my own.”

Harry’s face splits into a grin. “It’s settled then, up you get, both of you, let’s go.”

Zayn holds his hand out, thinking Harry’s going to help him to his feet. He’s too excited, though, pulling at his shirt again, from the top this time at least, nattering on about how they can both get birds, it’ll be sick. 

“Well,” Liam reaches down, pulling Zayn up easily, his smile just as wide as Harry’s, “my afternoon just got loads more exciting.”

“Yeah,” Zayn laughs, feeling like their moods are contagious, “mine too.”

**

The tiny bird on his hand’s nearly done when Liam comes bounding over to show off his new tattoos: two chevrons, right in a line up his forearm, just like he’d got for Louis all that time ago. 

“For us?” Harry asks, pulling away from where his artist is trying to put tape over his new swallows. He wells up when Liam nods. “ _Liam_.”

Zayn’s blinking fast, too, but not because he’s getting weepy. 

“Looks sick,” he manages, Liam beaming at him. 

“Y’alright, kid?” his artist asks. “Need a break?”

“No.” He takes a deep breath and then another, his voice steadier when he says, “No, I’m good. Finish it.”

He watches, unblinking, as the rest of the wing takes shape. He holds his breath the whole time. It doesn’t make the weird pain in his chest go away.

**

“You feeling better yet?” Harry asks, reaching around Zayn for the toothpaste.

“Yeah,” Zayn scrapes at a bit of residue left from the tape, frowning until it comes off, “it’s small, can hardly feel it.”

“I meant about Liam and his,” Harry holds up his forearm, drawing an arrowhead on it.

“What about it?” 

“How well done they were,” Harry says, sarcastic even around his mouthful of toothpaste. He spits, rinses, crowding back into Zayn’s space when he’s finished. “Zayn.”

“Harry.” He means to match Harry’s tone, only his voice stops working for a second, the sound only coming out at half volume. All of a sudden Harry’s got worry lines at the corners of his mouth; Zayn blinks and they’re gone, Harry’s face open, easy. Normal.

“Hey,” Harry smiles softly, like anything bigger might startle Zayn, “how’s it any different from these?” He points between his chest and Zayn’s hand. “Or…”

The air between them hangs heavy at the near-mention of Bus 1. Zayn chews on his lip. It’s easier to look at the crack in the tiles just over Harry’s shoulder than directly at him.

It is different, he wants to say, only he doesn’t know how to explain it, not when he can hardly make sense of it himself. Liam’s had that tattoo since before Zayn knew him. Adding to it isn’t the same as getting a bird slapped on his bicep or whatever. It’s just different.

The toilet feels cramped, Harry’s hand on his hip like an anchor holding him down. 

“Because it’s not,” Harry says eventually. “We’re his mates and he wants to remember us and that’s…” 

Zayn hears Harry take a deep breath, like he’s getting a bit weepy again. He focuses on the dull throb in his hand instead.

“That’s brilliant, yeah?” Harry squeezes Zayn’s hip for his attention. He looks over, nodding along with Harry. It _is_ brilliant, Zayn knows that it. It’s just really fucking overwhelming, too. 

Harry seems to relax when Zayn finally responds, his smile going full-dimple. 

“You need to get out of your head, Malik,” Harry says, his free hand coming up to cup Zayn’s cheek. “You’re gonna get lost in there someday.”

He punctuates it with a kiss at the corner of Zayn’s mouth, his hand sliding round to Zayn’s nape, steering them both out of the toilet.

“And let’s face it, Liam’s tat is sick. It’d’ve looked ridiculous if he’d gotten birds along with us.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, coughing when the words stick in his throat. He tries again. “Yeah, what idiot would get giant birds tattooed on himself?”

“Rude!” Harry fake gasps, elbowing Zayn and somehow catching him before he stumbles, tucking him back in close. “These are _not_ huge.”

If Harry notices the way Zayn’s whole body sags into Harry’s as they laugh, he doesn’t mention it.

**

“Oi!” Harry clambers out onto the balcony. “Liam wanted us to meet him at the pub.”

Zayn’s coming down from his high, trapped in that sluggish state. He doesn’t know if he’d want to go out even if he could afford it. He ashes his cigarette over the railing, says, “We’ve got rent, Haz.”

“I know, that’s why I told him to just come over. He was at that party, said it went longer than usual. You know what that means.” Harry makes an elaborate series of hand gestures while waggling his eyebrows.

“Are you trying to tell me he fucked her? Because none of that implied fucking.”

“What do you think this was?” Harry waves fingers while moving his thumb through the circle of his fist. It’s half-arsed at best and Harry definitely hadn’t done that before.

“A turkey getting it up the bum?” he guesses, pretending to frown. “No, that’d be the other way.” He tries to make his hands do it, but it doesn’t work. He ends up clapping them together like an idiot, getting ash all over his jeans.

“You deserve that,” Harry laughs, yelling, “It’s open!” when someone knocks on the door.

“Alright out here?” Liam appears carrying two Tesco bags. He’s still in his suit, jacket missing but his tie loose around his neck.

“Do you want to borrow any clothes?” Harry offers, liberating beers for himself and Zayn. 

“No, I’ll be alright. Have to get it cleaned anyway.”

“Get in,” Harry laughs, smacking Liam’s arse as he climbs through the window to join them.

Liam blushes, shaking his head at Harry as he settles down, his back against the railing, facing them instead of the street. He’s got his sleeves rolled up, too, Zayn notices, his new tattoos on full display.

It’s still a bit weird, seeing them, knowing the story behind them, but Zayn’s starting to like it. Which makes him feel a bit weirder, still, like a never-ending loop. Some days he wakes up thinking he’s still in the van. Some days it feels like lifetimes ago. Everything’s jumbled, is all. But in a good way. Mostly.

“Looks… sick,” Zayn says when Liam catches him staring. He feels downright stupid, knows he sounds like a bloody twat.

“Thanks!” Liam’s smile is a mile wide and makes Zayn feel like he could melt backwards into the building. Fuck. Maybe he’s higher than he’d thought. He takes a long pull of his beer and then another, drinking until he feels settled. 

“Alright, Li, let’s have it.” Harry claps his hands together. “Scale of Zayn tossing a bloke off in an alley to that time I roleplayed as a member of Hanson: how kinky was she?”

**

Zayn’s glad for a night in for once. At first having the whole flat to himself had been awkward; he hadn’t known what to do with all the quiet, all the space. He’d spend the whole time camped out on the sofa, waiting for Harry to come back.

Now, though, it’s nice. He putters about, makes himself a cuppa and drags one of their softest blankets off the bed, making a proper nest for himself on the sofa. He means to read through some of the newest comics Liam’d dropped off, only he’s too comfortable, ends up dozing instead.

He jolts awake when his phone goes skittering along the floor, new texts coming through one after the other. For a brief second he considers ignoring them, shutting the damn thing off and pretending they’d never come through at all, but he sees they’re all from Liam and stops.

_!!!!!!!_  
_CAROLINES HEREEEEEE_  
_There talking right now_  
_I HONESTLY DIDNT KNOW SHE WAS GUNNA B HERE !_

Fuck. Zayn reads the whole series again. Maybe he’s still asleep and this is some fucked-up dream. He wishes that were the case. Christ. This is.

 _Is he ok ?_ Zayn texts back, his hands shaking slightly. Fucking Caz, kicking Harry straight out of her life and then waltzing back in. Zayn doesn’t know what kind of party it was, can’t even remember the outfit Harry’d put on before he left. He’d been excited, though, just like he always is when he works with Liam. Had been singing in the kitchen while Zayn made himself dinner.

He’d been happy and now this.

Zayn stands up, walking in a circle around the flat. Puts the kettle back on. Checks the locks. Tells himself it’s stupid to pace like this, making himself sit at the kitchen table instead. He lights a cigarette and then, when Liam still hasn’t responded, another.

He’s got a pile of cigarette butts building up in his mug by the time Harry gets home.

“You will _never_ believe --”

Zayn’s on his feet before the door’s properly shut. “Haz.”

“Ugh,” Harry groans, wrapping his arms around Zayn’s waist as he collapses into the hug, “did Liam already tell you?”

“Yeah.” He rubs Harry’s back and tries to think of the right thing to say. He’s given himself pep talks for this moment, but they were always for himself. He’s wholly unprepared for talking Harry through this nuclear fallout. “It’s alright.” 

Harry scoffs, wrenching out of his grasp. Zayn tries not to recoil, even though he feels like an idiot. Obviously he’s hit the wrong mark.

“Can’t let anybody have their moment, can he,” Harry mutters to himself, typing something on his phone, “always has to break the news first. Well,” he finishes typing and tosses his phone aside so he can set about unwinding his headscarf, “I’ll start over, I guess. You’ll never believe who I ran into tonight.”

He drops onto the sofa, kicking off his boots. Zayn doesn’t know if he wants space or to be comforted. Normally he’d think comfort, but Harry hasn’t stopped moving yet, seems like he’s got energy to spare.

Zayn bites his lip, feeling nervous when he asks, “How bad was it?”

“Bad?” Harry looks at Zayn like he’s lost his mind. “Not at all? She’s good. Her hair’s brown now, which was weird, but like, not in a bad way, just in a way that made me do a double take. Almost didn’t recognize her, really.”

Harry laughs and something in Zayn shifts, like a balloon inside him’s been popped, all the air wooshing out of him at once. 

“We had a lovely chat, actually,” Harry’s saying, “she just got back from Jamaica, showed me pics of this lagoon. I think we should start a Jamaica fund, Zayn. Get Liam in on it. It’d be sick.”

“Yeah, sounds great, Haz. We’ll get right on that.” Zayn can’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He’s been sitting here, all fucking night, planning ways to scrape Harry’s heart off the floor, and all the while he’d been having a bloody _chat_ about _Jamaica_. 

“You can just say if you don’t want to.”

Zayn makes an awful face before he can stop himself.

“Or don’t say it at all, Jesus,” Harry says. “It was just a stupid idea. Caz was saying -- what? Why are you laughing like that?”

“Because! It’s all a laugh, isn’t it? She sacks you, leaves you with nothing, and the first time you see her after how many months and it’s all ‘oh, Caz has brown hair’ and ‘we should go to Jamaica, Caz says it’s brilliant.’ You said you loved her --”

“I did!”

“-- but that’s not how it’s supposed to work, Harry! If you loved her --”

“I _did_!” Harry yells, but Zayn’s yelling too, has spent too long turning this over and over in his mind.

“-- it wouldn’t be a laugh.”

“How do _you_ know what it would be? What it’s _supposed_ to be?” Harry spits out.

“BECAUSE,” Zayn yells, so loud Harry flinches. That doesn’t stop him, the words spilling out before he can choke them back down. “Because if I saw Louis it’d be like someone punched me in the fucking chest so hard I’d be sick, Harry. It wouldn’t be a fucking laugh, it’d be _horrible_ and I sure as shit wouldn’t come home wanting to plan a bloody HOLIDAY.”

He swallows against the painful lump in his throat, blinking furiously. He doesn’t want to cry, not about this. It’s been so long. He takes a deep breath and then another when Harry’s hand circles his wrist, featherlight.

“You… you were in love with Louis?”

Zayn laughs bitterly. “Wasn’t it obvious?” He wipes his free hand over his face, drags it across his t-shirt when his palm comes away wet. He lets Harry pull him down onto the sofa.

“I always figured like,” Harry pauses, his thumb tracing the edge of Zayn’s tattoo, “I dunno. You fooled around, yeah? Like I figured that, and that you were mates, and that something happened, like a falling out or whatever.” He blows out a breath, heavy enough that Zayn can feel it against his cheek. “I knew you loved him, I just thought it was like you love me and Liam, not…”

He doesn’t finish and Zayn doesn’t help him. 

“What happened?” Harry asks. “That made it go bad, I mean. That made you leave.”

He’s drawing a soothing pattern on the back of Zayn’s hand, his eyes warm and concerned, the tips of those stupid swallows peeking out of his unbuttoned shirt. Zayn knows the LOVE banner is still there, underneath. He wishes it were that easy. That he could cover it up and move on.

“You don’t have to,” Harry says, but Zayn shakes his head. 

“No, it’s alright. I…” He takes a moment to gather himself, pulling at a loose thread in the blanket while he tells Harry everything, from the beginning all the way through. The library. Louis running out on him. Louis coming back worse.

It hurts to talk about, but not in the way he’d thought it would. It doesn’t feel like an ugly, gaping wound anymore. Hasn’t felt like that in a long time, he realizes. It’s not gone, far from it, but. Maybe it’s the sort of thing that never really goes away, it just gets less with time. Like an old break that only aches when it rains.

**

“I thought,” Harry says later, when the two of them are lying in bed, “with Caz, like. When I saw her today it was just,” he draws a straight line through the air, “nothing. It was like running into an old classmate at the market. Just a thing that happened.”

Zayn doesn’t know what to say so he keeps quiet. 

“When I was with her it was loads of fun. She’d buy me anything I wanted, take me out and show me off, fuck me at all hours. Anything I wanted. Anything _she_ wanted, I suppose. And I thought…” He rubs at one of the swallows on his chest, staring up at the ceiling. “But it was so easy to let go, so.”

He turns his head, cheek pressed to the pillow so he can look at Zayn, honestly curious when he asks, “What does it feel like, then? Being in love.”

“Horrible,” Zayn says, equally honest, before rolling onto his back, away from Harry.

It’s quiet for a long time again. He thinks maybe Harry’s fallen asleep, but when he glances over, Harry’s staring at the ceiling looking confused. 

“Horrible in the end, or like… the whole time?”

Zayn thinks about it, trying to recall the bits before everything went to shit, back when Louis was his whole bloody world. Logically he knows they had to have existed. It wouldn’t feel so horrible at the end if the beginning hadn’t been good. It’s just so hard to remember them now, like they’re buried under an avalanche of bad. Like there’s no point in trying to dig them up if they’re just going to be frostbitten and numb.

“I dunno,” he tucks his hands under the hem of his t-shirt, curling his fingers against his stomach, “it was so horrible at the end I guess I’ve forgotten.”

Harry makes a sad, sympathetic sound. Zayn closes his eyes against it.

“I guess,” Harry sounds like he’s sorting through his thoughts, “I thought it was different.”

Zayn shrugs, says, “So did I.” He had, once upon a time. Live and learn or whatever.

After a bit the bed shifts. Zayn opens his eyes to find Harry watching him again, his hand flat on the bed between them like he’d wanted to reach out but had stopped himself. His bottom lip’s swollen from how he’s been worrying it all night.

“Maybe it is, though?” Harry says it like it’s a question, his eyes wide and hopeful. It reminds Zayn of that first day in the coffee shop, how he’d found himself liking Haz almost against his will. Harry makes you want to keep him safe. Zayn blinks. He wishes he had his pipe.

“Yeah,” he hears himself saying, “maybe.”

He doesn’t believe it, but Harry seems to. He finally stretches all the way out, curling his hand around Zayn’s bicep. Neither of them says anything else, but Harry stays like that all night. Zayn knows it’s only because Haz’s passed out, but it sort of feels intentional. Reassuring. Like Harry isn’t going anywhere.

**

“Would you please take care of that?” Harry says first thing, laughing when Zayn, still half-asleep, stumbles directly into the kitchen table.

Liam’s calling him, Zayn’s phone vibrating on the counter where he’d left it, completely forgotten as he’d worked himself into a lather over Harry. When he goes to answer he sees Liam’s responses to his worried texts, all from before Harry’d gotten home.

 _Think so yea_ Liam had said, and then another text that’s all squares because Liam’s constantly forgetting Zayn’s phone doesn’t have emojis. There are more, a couple from late last night and some from this morning, but Zayn ignores them so he can answer.

“Sorry,” he says, first thing. “Left my phone in the kitchen and got distracted.”

“S’alright,” Liam says, unfazed. “Everything’s alright, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, watching Harry dance in front of the hob. There’s no music playing.

“Tell him to come over,” Harry says. “I’m making eggs.”

“Haz is making eggs, if you like.”

“What kind?”

“Dunno.” Zayn doesn’t feel like getting up to check. “Usually they’re omelettes run amok so probably scrambled.”

“Tell Liam there’s plenty extra because you’re not getting any,” Harry says over his shoulder. 

“I can probably be there in twenty?” Liam says. If Zayn concentrates he thinks he can hear Loki running around Liam’s flat.

“It’s a beautiful day, Liam!” Harry drapes himself over Zayn’s back, talking loudly so Liam can hear. 

“Is it?” Zayn asks, gone partially deaf. 

“Yes.” Harry worms his arms under Zayn’s, hugging him. “Bring your dirty clothes, Liam, because we’ve got laundry to do!”

Zayn drops his head onto the table and groans. Harry laughs before dropping a kiss on the nape of his neck.

“You’ll be alright, Zayner,” he says, softer, like Liam’s not meant to hear. Zayn knows Harry means it on multiple levels but he pretends to be thick, groaning louder.

“Dirty laundry and burnt eggs. Save yourself, Liam.”

“Fucking hell.” Harry wiggles free to hurry back to the hob. Zayn keeps his forehead on the table, listening to Liam laughing as he locks up his flat, Harry humming as he tries to salvage their breakfast. 

He tries not to think about anything he and Harry talked about last night. It’s too early for that sort of thing. It’s too early for thinking at all.

&&&

“Liam!”

He looks across the street to where Harry and Zayn are stood, Harry waving with both arms like he’s terrified Liam might miss them, Zayn much less insane. Liam waves before jogging over.

“It’s packed,” he says. “Thought I’d missed you. Were you waiting long?”

“Yes,” Harry says, grimacing when Zayn elbows him.

“Not even a full minute before we spotted you.”

“Oh good.” Liam legs start to ache as they set out; all the jogging’s finally caught up to him. He’d hoped they were running late, too. Had bet on it, actually, when he’d agreed to meet them so close to the wedding he’d been at. “Traffic was terrible. Felt like I was about to die in my car.”

He’s expecting them to laugh at him for being dramatic, but instead Zayn elbows him, pointing at how Harry’s waving at a busker on the street corner. 

“Who’s that?” Zayn asks as they cross the street.

“Oh that’s…” Harry pulls a face. “He’s Irish.”

“Is that his name?” Zayn snorts. “Irish?”

“Pleasure to meet you, Irish,” Liam sticks his hand in Zayn’s face, “I’m English.”

“ _You’re_ English? But that’s _my_ name!”

Liam’s stomach hurts from laughing but Harry’s frown only gets deeper the longer they keep at it.

“Harry!” Zayn sighs when Harry stalks away, “Wait up! We’re just taking the piss.”

Zayn jogs after him, but Liam’s still in his fancy dress, doesn’t much feel like jogging down a busy street. He keeps his pace, watches as Zayn catches up, his head bent close to Harry’s until Harry’s shoulders relax and he laughs. Sometimes Liam feels this weird burst of pride for introducing them when he thinks about how they get on so well. It’s nice to see his mates being mates.

“Hurry up, Liam!” Harry turns back to yell, Zayn pulling a face at Liam before he elbows Harry, saying something that makes Harry say, “I’m just _taking the piss_ , Zayn.”

They make it in plenty of time for the fireworks, all three of them spread out on a blanket Liam hadn’t realized Harry was carrying. He could do with a drink or more comfortable clothes.

“Or a spliff,” Zayn says. When Liam looks over, Zayn’s looking at him instead of the fireworks. “Make the colors extra bright and all, yeah?”

“Probably be brilliant,” Liam admits, even though he doesn’t smoke all that much. Sometimes, but not like Zayn and Louis. Not that Zayn smokes half as much as he used to. Mostly before work. 

Maybe Louis smokes less now, too. Liam hasn’t seen him since that time at the Macca’s. He still texts him once in a while, just to check in, like. Hi, how are you, good to hear it. Louis’s responses are always short, but at least they’re responses.

He’s drawn out of his thoughts by the finale, fighting off a laugh when Harry flinches, covering his ears. Zayn doesn’t bother hiding it.

“Alright, Hazza?” He leans over Liam to poke Harry in the cheek, keeps at it until Harry cracks, smiling and dropping his hands. “Afraid of fireworks?”

“No,” Harry scowls, and Liam has just enough time to lay very flat before Zayn’s scrambling over him, his bony knee catching Liam’s ribs as he flattens Harry, shouting about how he’ll protect him.

“Hey, Liam,” Harry says, sounding calm underneath a pile of Zayn, “what do you get when you cross a tyrannosaurus rex with fireworks?”

“No.” Zayn shakes his head.

“I dunno, what?”

“ _Liam_.” Zayn sounds betrayed. He presses up, trying to get away, but Harry holds tight.

“Dino-mite!” Harry yells, Zayn groaning and going limp.

It takes Liam a second, but then, “Ohhh, I get it.” He laughs, clapping Harry on the closest thing he can to his shoulder. It’s his forehead, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind.

“Don’t encourage him,” Zayn says, sounding exasperated, like they’re Harry’s parents and Liam’s given Harry extra chocolate before bed.

Harry laughs at his own joke a bit longer before slapping Zayn’s arse for him to roll off.

“Well, I’d best find Grimmy.” Harry sits up and fishes his phone out of his pocket. “He’s by the knobby tree. Do you think that’s it?” 

Liam follows where he’s pointing to and tries to decide. “Is it knobby like… gnarled or it looks like a knob?” 

Zayn looks at both of them like they’ve gone mental. “Grimmy’s here?”

“Yeah! Do you want to come with? You could meet him!”

“That’s still weird, Harry,” Liam says, while Zayn just says, “No,” his voice all flat.

“Alright.” Harry shrugs like it’s no big deal either way. “I’m off then." He salutes and shimmies and then disappears into the crowd. 

“I should be going, too,” Zayn says, starting to fold up the blanket. “Tube’ll be crowded as bollocks.”

“I can give you a lift?” It comes out more unsure than Liam means it. Zayn’s been his mate for ages but sometimes Liam still feels like he should tread lightly. Like any second everything’ll collapse and he’ll never hear from Zayn again.

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s on the way.” Liam sets his hand at the small of Zayn’s back, starting to guide him through the crowd.

“Fine.” Zayn goes along easily enough. Halfway to the car park he bumps Liam’s hip, waiting for Liam to look over before he smiles and says, “Thanks, by the way.” 

Liam grins back. “Anytime.” 

It’s the last thing either of them says before they reach Zayn’s flat, but it’s alright. Liam’s ears are still ringing from the fireworks anyway.

**

“Remind me which cupboard the cups are in again, Liam,” Harry says. 

Liam comes out of the loo to answer, stopping dead in his tracks when Zayn points in the right direction, saying, “Right, Haz, by the fridge. No, _right_.”

Harry spots Liam, looking to him for confirmation. “Yeah, that one.”

Zayn rolls his eyes at Liam as Harry says, “Aha!” and holds a glass over his head triumphantly. Haz has been there almost as often as Zayn has lately; it’s weirder that he doesn’t remember where Liam keeps the cups, really.

“What’s that then?” Zayn nods at the clippers in Liam’s hands. “Bit intense for your scruff, innit?”

“It’s for my hair,” Liam says defensively, palming his cheek. He keeps it this way on purpose; he could grow it longer if he wanted. 

“ _Zayn_.” Harry’s whole face lights up, like he’s a cartoon character gone all smile. “He’s been whinging about how shit his hair is for weeks.”

“It’s not shit,” Zayn and Liam say at the same time, in wildly different tones. It makes Liam laugh.

“Been wanting to cut it, is all.” Zayn shrugs. He cards his hand through his hair, tugging on the ends. It is a bit long, Liam supposes. Especially now that it’s getting steadily warmer out.

“I could do it, if you want. I’m not the best but I do my own enough. And I’m cheaper than a proper barber.”

Zayn seems to think about it. Liam stays quiet, not wanting to push him.

“Yeah, alright,” he says eventually. 

“Sick.” Liam goes about setting up shop at the kitchen table instead of the loo like he’d originally planned. “This is better. You can line me up after, yeah? I can do it if I’m desperate but it’s easier to have someone else do it.”

“Alright,” Zayn says hesitantly, watching Liam spread old newspapers on the floor, “if you really want.”

“Perfect!” Liam grins, patting the back of the chair so Zayn’ll come sit. “Haz, you want a trim while we’re at it?”

“What?” Harry nearly falls over thin air, only saved by Zayn reaching out to steady him. “No, I’ve got a… thing. With a regular. Grimmy? I think. I’m actually late for it, so. I should go. Bye!”

He’s out the door before Liam can process what’s happened.

“Should I be insulted?” 

“Think he really just doesn’t want his hair cut. He keeps saying he’s growing it out.” Zayn tilts his head all the way back so he can grin upside down at Liam. He’s stripped down to just his vest when Liam wasn’t paying attention, his shirt balled up in his lap.

“Here.” Liam takes it from him, setting it on the back of a different chair, away from potential stray hairs. He’s got Loki in the bedroom so he doesn’t make a mess either. He sets a towel over Zayn’s shoulders for good measure. “Just a trim, then?”

He’s got scissors, he can probably make it pretty even, if that’s what Zayn wants.

“Actually,” Zayn twists so he can look at Liam full on, gesturing to the clippers with his chin, “do you think you could like, buzz just the sides?” 

“Like a mohawk?”

“I guess, yeah.”

Liam nods, changing the number of the blade to shorter than he normally goes. “Of course.” This’ll be even easier than he’d thought.

It’s slow work, but only because Liam’s worried about bollocksing it up. He’d never hear the end of it if he left a divot in Zayn’s hairline. Zayn’s patient, though, doesn’t rush him or get stroppy when Liam takes breaks to see how it’s going. Harry definitely wouldn’t have sat still this long.

“How’s it look?” he asks about halfway through, his head tilted awkwardly, ear held down under Liam’s thumb. He’s got a clump of hair stuck on his cheek; Liam blows at it unthinkingly, Zayn’s nose wrinkling up as the air pushes it away.

He finishes touching up the tricky spot behind Zayn’s ear and takes a step back. From this side it looks brilliant. Head on it looks ridiculous.

“What?” Zayn looks stricken, his hand coming up to touch the shaved side of his head. “What’d you do?”

“Oh no, it’s just,” Liam points to the longer half, “just looks stupid is all. It’ll look sick when it’s done, though, I swear.”

Zayn looks skeptical as Liam switches sides. 

“Really,” he says, gently tilting Zayn’s head, “you’re gonna look proper gangster.”

He’s right. When all’s said and done, Zayn’s hair looks incredible. Certainly better than any buzzcut Liam’s given himself.

“Maybe you should quit your job, Liam,” Zayn says, pulling faces at his reflection, fluffing up his quiff so it’s standing messily on end, “open up a barber shop instead.”

Liam leans against the doorframe, laughing. “I’ll give my two weeks tomorrow.”

Zayn laughs too, his grin blinding when he turns towards Liam. “Your turn?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“‘Course not.” He stops before he brushes past Liam in the doorway. “You’ve got,” he reaches up, thumb brushing Liam’s lower lip as he pinches a bit of hair away. Liam fights the urge to lick his lips even though they feel bone dry all of a sudden. 

Zayn brushes his fingers against his shirt and more hair falls onto the floor. Seems the towel was for naught. 

“You’re worse than Loki,” Liam says, laughing at the insulted look that crosses Zayn’s face.

“Don’t think I won’t carve my initials into the back of your head,” Zayn threatens, wielding the clippers menacingly. 

Liam laughs again. “A proper Zorro, you are.”

Zayn flicks his ear, but Liam can hear him laughing too. 

“Hey,” he says, his hand on the back of Liam’s neck, the clippers poised but not on, “you want me to do the sides of yours, too?”

“Um.” Liam’s got work, is the thing. He can’t show up at some black tie wedding with a full mohawk.

“Just a little bit,” Zayn says. “Your hair’s shorter anyway so it won’t be as like, dramatic. Just a little here.” He skims his hand over the side of Liam’s head. It probably _would_ look sick.

“Just a little bit,” Liam agrees.

It’s painstakingly slow. Zayn’s head is bent so close Liam wonders how he hasn’t gone cross-eyed from it. It’s a struggle not to fidget, especially when Zayn’s breath is tickling his neck. 

“You won’t nick me, you know,” Liam says at one point, watching Zayn out of the corner of his eye. He’s got his tongue between his teeth as he concentrates. “There’s a guard on it and everything.”

“I know.” Zayn scowls before wetting his lip. He runs his thumb over the area he’s just buzzed like he’s testing the length. “Just relax, yeah?”

 _You_ relax, Liam wants to say, but he knows the difference between helping and hurting. He closes his eyes instead, lets Zayn move his head in different directions.

It’s worth the wait.

“Zayn, this is…” Liam’s a bit speechless if he’s honest. He can’t stop touching the short sides, the bit of his quiff Zayn’d styled before he let Liam have a look.

“Yeah?” Zayn rubs the other side of Liam’s head, grinning. “You think it’s alright?”

Liam can’t stop looking in the mirror, pulling the same faces Zayn had been earlier. 

“I think we should both quit our jobs, open a shop together,” he says, grinning as Zayn laughs.

**

Loki spots them first, straining at his leash until Liam lets go so he can run straight across the grass. He catches Harry in the shins, knocking him arse over teakettle and jumping on his stomach.

Zayn looks up from his book to check on them. Even from here Liam can tell he asks if Harry’s alright, petting Harry’s head before Loki’s.

“Hiiiii,” Harry says when Liam makes it over. Zayn smiles at him.

“You’re alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry struggles into a sit, Loki running around him. Liam goes to grab his leash so he won’t dart off, but Zayn’s already got the end looped around his wrist.

“Haz’s got a story for us,” Zayn says, “wouldn’t tell me til you got here.”

“Oh?” Liam settles in the grass. Loki abandons Harry for his lap, pulling Zayn’s wrist to a weird angle. He doesn't seem to notice, too busy staring at Harry expectantly.

“So I was with Grimmy, right? He wanted me to go to this party with him, just a small do. I wore that shirt, you know the one with…”

Liam doesn’t mean to tune Harry out, but sometimes it takes so long for him to tell a story that it just happens. Zayn seems equally disinterested. He’s got a marker out, is probably doodling in the edges of his book like Liam’s seen him do often enough. The way his hand moves across the page is soothing. It’s like Liam’s being hypnotized.

“So then he comes back,” Harry’s saying, “and the stripper comes over to me and starts giving _me_ a lap dance.”

“Wait.” Liam blinks. Zayn’s head jerks up, too, and he’s got the funniest look on his face.

“He bought --”

“A _stripper_?”

“-- for his hooker.” Zayn’s voice doesn’t get all high at the end like Liam’s had, but it’s equally disbelieving. He looks at Liam, eyes wide as he laughs. Harry’s known Grimmy for so long now that Liam’d thought he’d heard everything he possibly could have, that he was immune to their adventures. Apparently not.

“It was so weird! I didn’t know what to do!” 

Zayn snorts. “I didn’t say anything!” he says when Harry glares. “It’s just a bit ironic, is all.”

Harry starts to say something and then changes his mind, huffing. He reaches for the frisbee Liam’s brought. “We’re going to play,” he says, clapping and shaking the frisbee until Loki follows.

“He’ll be fine,” Zayn says once they’re far enough away.

“I know.” Liam lets go of the breath he was holding. He knows Harry hates it when they tease him about seeing Grimmy, even if it is only about the weirder bits. 

He scoots around, moves until he’s next to Zayn with a better view of Haz and Loki. Turns out Zayn’s not reading at all, the pages of his book are all blank. He’s just been drawing this whole time, thick marker lines across the whole page, ZAP! and POW! and BANG! like it’s a whole series.

“I thought you were reading,” he says. He’s sitting close enough to feel the way Zayn’s shoulders shake when he chuckles.

“I splurged on a sketchbook. Had been saving for a haircut and then didn’t need it anymore.” He grins at Liam before going back to shading in the background of the ZAP! It looks uncannily like the tattoo on Zayn’s arm, which suddenly makes sense. Liam knows Zayn’d sketched out the bird on his hand, too.

“You’re quite good,” he says, starting to feel hypnotized again. Zayn moves his hand in short, sure strokes.

“Cheers.” Zayn doesn’t look up. “I’m alright. My older sister’s way better.”

“Oh.” Liam makes himself swallow around anything he might say. He hadn’t known Zayn had a sister. Has a sister. Zayn’s never talked about anything that’s not the here and now. “Well. I think that’s fantastic. You should do smash next. Like the Hulk. You know, if you want.”

The corners of Zayn’s mouth curl up, like he’s concentrating but can’t keep his smile at bay.

“Yeah,” he says. “Sounds good.”

**

_Do u want 2 come over for dinner tonite ?_

_YYYY_ Liam texts back, glad to be rescued from another night of leftover noodles. Even if Harry and Zayn are making their weird pot noodle dinner it’ll be better than microwaved pasta. 

He heads over to their flat early because there’s nothing on the telly at this hour. He doesn’t think they’ll mind.

“Oh good,” Zayn says when he lets Liam in, “I want you to taste this, tell me if it’s too spicy.”

He’d once made dinner that had Liam and Harry drinking straight out of the tap; he’s been traumatized ever since, worried he’s going to do it again.

“It’s good,” Liam says, dipping the spoon back into the chili for a second taste. “What’d Harry say?”

“He’s out tonight, it’s just us.” 

Liam blinks. He’d just assumed it’d be all of them. But now that he thinks about it, the flat is quieter than normal, no sign of Harry humming on the balcony or whever. 

Zayn nudges Liam away from the hob, turning the heat down to let it simmer. There’s so much in the pan. Must’ve been a sale on beans. They’re going to be eating chili for days, just like Liam and his pasta.

“I see how it is,” Liam says. “Make too much, call Liam to come finish it off.”

Zayn pokes him in the stomach, laughing. “Not my fault you can put it away, bro.”

“Ugh,” Liam groans, feeling stuffed well after they’ve eaten, “I never want to move again.”

Zayn laughs, ruffling Liam’s hair. “Sorry we haven’t got a telly to watch while we digest.” He looks around the room, his lip caught in his teeth. “Haven’t got anything, really. Well...”

He gets up, comes back with a deck of cards. “Don’t know who Kath and Eddie are, but --”

“No way.” Liam takes the deck from him, turning it over in his hands. “These were a wedding favor from like,” he tries to do the maths and gives up, “forever ago. I have them too. I didn’t know Harry was there.” It must’ve been during the Caz days. It was one of the first jobs Liam ever went on.

“Really? That’s mental.” Zayn folds himself into a knot on the floor, patting across from him so Liam’ll do the same. “Figured we could play poker or whatevs.”

“We’d need something for chips, though.” Liam wrinkles his nose. “Plus I’m shit at poker. What else’ve you got.”

It’s a long time, the two of them tossing out card games that are too complicated or won’t work with only two people, until Liam remembers some game his sisters used to play when they were bored.

Zayn claims he’s never played, but he’s a quick study, laughing every time he slaps the center pile half a second before Liam does. Liam’s sure his hand has to be stinging by the end of it, but he doesn’t complain, just shakes it out and slides the pile of cards towards Liam as they re-deal.

“I’ve not gotten any better at this since I was eight,” Liam says grumpily. Zayn’s cards are nearly gone and his own pile is massive. 

“You’re just too good a teacher, mate.” Zayn sticks his tongue out before slapping the pile.

“You distracted me!” 

“How?”

“By talking!”

“You were the one who started it,” Zayn points out, laughing. He wins two more games to Liam’s one, and by that time Liam’s groaning again.

“Bollocks, I’ve got to let Loki out,” he pushes off the floor, dusting his pants off, “wanna come with? We said best out of seven, I could still manage a comeback.”

Zayn laughs loudly; they both know it’s unlikely.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, already cleaning up the cards. He sticks a note on the fridge for Harry that just says _@ Liam’s_ with a smiley face.

Loki’s thrilled to see them, running figure eights around them both while Liam tries to catch him long enough to clip his leash on.

“Nights like this are my favorite,” Zayn says, exhaling smoke at the moon. It seems extra bright tonight, nearly full.

“Mine too. Used to camp out in the back garden with my dad sometimes in the summer.” They’d pitch a tent and everything. Cook jacket potatoes in a fire. Proper camping stuff.

When he looks over, Zayn’s watching him funny. Liam shrugs. The kids at school always thought it was a bit weird, too. Had made fun of Liam when he’d first told them about it. He never mentioned it after that, even though he and his dad did it at least once a year.

“I used to crawl out my bedroom window and sit on the roof,” Zayn says, looking away. “Our house was,” he shakes his head, “anyway. Fell asleep up there more often than not. Drove everyone mental.”

He laughs at himself after, so Liam laughs quietly too, says, “Guess you always had a knack for dropping off in random places, then.” 

“Yeah.” Zayn takes one last drag from his cig, his shoulders relaxing a bit with it. “It’s basically my superpower.” 

Liam grins and lets Loki lead them both back to the flat. They’re meant to play three more rounds of Spit, but Liam makes the mistake of turning the telly on first, finding a replay of _Independence Day_ that’s only half over. He doesn’t know how long Zayn makes it, but Liam’s out before the first advert break, only wakes up in time for the last ten minutes, Zayn breathing deeply on the sofa next to him.

Liam checks that everything’s locked up and shut off before finding a blanket. Zayn wakes up the second Liam drapes it over him, even though Liam had been trying his hardest to be stealthy.

“Shit,” Zayn rubs his hand over his face, “I passed out.”

“S’alright, so did I.” Liam stands back up, still holding the blanket. “I was just going to go to bed.”

Zayn nods, his eyes bleary like he’s not really awake, at least not fully. After a second he stands up, heads right for Liam’s room, Loki plodding along behind him.

Liam leaves the blanket on the sofa. Zayn’s spent the night a couple times before, always ends up in Liam’s bed. He sleeps better that way, Liam knows. Hasn’t slept alone in… well. As long as Liam’s known him.

He moves as carefully as possible as he changes into shorts and a vest. Zayn’s already out cold again, curled on his side, probably still wearing his jeans. Liam should’ve been quicker, offered him a pair of joggers or something. It’s what he usually does, when they’re not dead tired. It’s too late now, though.

He slips into bed quietly as he can, looking over his shoulder one last time, just to make sure everyone’s still settled, Zayn already snoring a little. 

“G’night,” he whispers, flicking off the light and curling onto his side. Maybe in the morning he’ll make eggy bread if Zayn sticks around long enough. He thinks he’s got all the ingredients in the fridge.

The bed shifts as Loki settles into the space between their bent knees. Liam’s asleep before he’s fully settled.

&&&

Harry hears the music before anything else and before he knows it he’s stood across the street. It’s the same lad that’s always busking around here. Harry tosses him a few pence whenever he sees him; he hasn’t got much to spare but he can’t help himself.

“Cheers.” He doesn’t fully stop playing but the music gets quieter. Harry takes it as an invitation to move closer.

“You’re really good,” he says. “I’ve heard you loads.”

“Yeah, think I remember you from last week. Didn’t you try to dance to a Bieber song?”

“I didn’t _try_ , I was actually dancing.” 

He snorts, his hand slipping along the strings when he imitates Harry’s loosey-goosey dance moves. “You looked like a giraffe on skates, mate. Thought you were going to brain yourself on the street and I’d have to escort you to hospital.”

Harry frowns; the lad’s too busy tuning his guitar to notice.

“It was great,” he says, shrugging just one shoulder. “Normally people just pretend like they can’t see me.” 

When he finally looks up he’s smiling. It’s blinding. Harry looks away for a second. 

“I’m Niall, by the way.”

“Harry.” His phone vibrates as he’s shaking Niall’s hand. Shit. He was supposed to meet Zayn and Liam. “Listen, you can say no if you want, but I’m meeting my mates for a drink, if you’d like to come?”

Niall kicks his guitar case gently, the coins Harry’d dropped in rattling around. There’s a bit more in there, too. Not a lot, but some.

“Yeah,” Niall squeezes Harry’s hand. He hadn’t realized they were still shaking. “Think I’ve got enough for a pint.”

**

“So I’m standing there, and he’s standing there, and now we’re _both_ on the camera, and his girlfriend’s on the other end, screaming bloody murder, so everyone _else_ comes running in --”

“Is his cock out this whole time?” Liam asks.

“Yes!” Niall nods, setting his beer on the table so violently that some of it ends up spilled in Harry’s lap. Harry’s laughing too hard to care. 

“Shit,” Zayn wipes the corner of his eye, like he’s been laughing so hard he’s crying, “and I thought my roommate was hard to live with.”

“Heyyy.” Harry sticks out his tongue. Zayn makes the same face back. 

“Careful,” Liam makes like he’s going to poke Zayn’s tongue, stopping himself before he actually does it, “your face’ll stick like that.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Zayn sticks his tongue back out, beaming at Liam.

“Think you’re the first person to ever complain about Zayn’s mouth, Liam,” Harry adds, watching both their faces go pink. Next to him, Niall chuckles into his beer. Probably at the way Liam’s sputtering. “Like, literally the first person in history.”

“That’s not --”

“Alright,” Zayn interrupts them both, eyes cutting to Niall like Harry’s embarrassing them in front of company. 

Harry holds his hands up. “I’m just defending your honor, Zayn!”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

Niall laughs really loudly at how flat Zayn’s voice is. Harry bites the inside of his cheek so he won’t laugh and ruin everything.

“We can’t have him besmirching --”

“Besmirching!” Niall coughs on the words, his face in his hand.

“-- your good name.”

Zayn’s blinking at Harry like he’s just waiting for it all to be over. Liam’s still pink. Niall’s laughing so hard he sounds like he’s about to start hiccoughing. Harry wants to see how much more it’ll take.

“It’s --”

“Haz.” Zayn cuts him off, his face gone from amused to over it. Harry sighs but stops. After a moment, Zayn relaxes. “It’s late, I’m gonna go for a smoke and then get to work. You coming?”

Harry should, he knows, mentally doing the maths for the bills, how much he’s spent tonight. 

“Fucking hell,” Niall coughs into his arm before taking a long drink, “don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone use besmirching before.”

“Is it even a real word?” Liam asks.

“Yes,” Zayn says, raising an eyebrow at Harry, still waiting for his answer.

Harry chances a glance at Niall, red-cheeked and happy. Maybe he’ll just stay out a bit longer tomorrow.

“Nah, not tonight,” he says. Zayn nods and nudges Liam to let him out of the booth. 

“See you later, then. It was nice meeting you, Niall.”

“Oi, wait,” Liam jolts to life as Zayn walks away, waving goodbye to Harry and Niall like they’re a complete afterthought, “let me bum a smoke before I’ve got to get back, let Loki out.”

Niall nudges Harry’s shoulder with his own, smiling so bright it’s like looking at the sun. “And then there were two.”

**

“Zayyyyn,” Harry drags it out, ignoring the muffled noises Zayn’s making under him, “but we haven’t had a Zayn and Haz night in ages. No Zaz Nights at all.”

“Don’t call them that.”

“None at _all_.”

“Whose fault is that?”

Harry pushes himself up so he can look Zayn dead in the eye. “Yours.”

“Mine?” Zayn squawks. “You’re the one chasing Niall all around town every day!”

“I’m not chasing him.” He’s not at all. Just because Niall’d given him his number after their pub night and texts Harry where he’s going to be playing most days doesn’t mean Harry’s _chasing_ him. So they get drinks sometimes, or fuck about in the park. Or that time they went to that old record shop Niall knew about. Zayn hadn’t complained when Harry came home with _Yo_ on vinyl as a surprise three-month-roommate-anniversary gift. Yeah, he’d complained that Harry’d spent thirty pounds on a used turntable, but when isn’t Zayn complaining, really. 

Harry drops back down, wriggling until he’s not being jabbed by Zayn’s boniest parts anymore.

“We’re friends, Zayn,” he says, resisting the urge to say anything pointed. Zayn must hear it anyway, because he hums, patting Harry’s back. 

Harry’s not sure how long they stay like that, snuggled up, some Eagles album Niall’d convinced him to get playing softly in the background, but it’s nice. 

“Fuck.” 

Harry blinks awake when Zayn starts squirming, poking him in the side. “Is it ten already?”

“No,” Zayn says, “we’ve got plenty of time, it’s just,” he shifts enough that Harry loses his balance, Zayn catching him right before he tumbles onto the floor, “fuck. This sofa is shit, Harry.”

“It is not.” Harry found it on the side of the road the day he’d moved in. It’s ugly as sin but that’s half the charm. It’s served him well. Better than most of his belongings, if he’s being honest.

“Tell that to the springs digging into my back.” He pats Harry’s bum gently. “Off.”

Harry groans as he pushes into an upright position. The clock says it’s half six and Harry knows logically they should eat, shower, start getting ready to go out, but Zayn’s reaching out, tugging him along, and it’s easy to fall right back into bed.

He’s been out so much lately, barely any time spent in the flat. Niall’s got endless energy, seems like. He’s like the opposite of Zayn. It’s mental.

“Noooo,” he flinches backwards when Zayn pokes his finger into Harry’s yawning mouth, “I hate when you do that. It ruins a perfectly good yawn.”

“I know.” Harry cracks one eye open to find a gleeful Zayn. He kicks him gently, Zayn laughing and rolling out of reach. He waits a moment before scooting back, hand carding through Harry’s hair like an apology. “Get some sleep, Haz.”

“Wake me at ten, yeah?” Harry’s skipped too many nights lately. He’s seen Grimmy a couple times this month, enough to cover rent, but he’s not left himself much wiggle room. “Don’t let me sleep through it.”

Zayn, already face down in his pillow, makes a noise that sounds like yes. This wasn’t what Harry’d meant when he wanted a night for the two of them, but it’s not the worst thing. The song changes to something slow and easy that Harry knows he’s heard Niall playing on the corner. He stretches out, hooking his ankle over Zayn’s, and lets it lull him back to sleep.

**

“Guess who?”

Harry stumbles when Niall sneaks up behind him, throwing his hand over Harry’s eyes. 

“Uhh,” he tilts his chin up, feeling Niall’s callouses rough against his cheekbone, “Bono?”

Niall shoves him, laughing. “Is that the only Irish person you could think of? No,” he holds his fingers to Harry’s lips, “I don’t want to know if it is.”

“It isn’t,” Harry says, the words coming out muffled.

“Shhh.” Niall hushes him, pressing his hand against Harry’s mouth harder when he tries to list more people. They’re both laughing by the end of it, Harry feeling like someone’s filled him up with air, like he’s a human balloon, seconds from floating away. 

“Thought you said Zayn was coming.” Niall adjusts his guitar case as they set off down the road. 

“Changed his mind.” Harry stops at one of the stalls, an older woman selling lettuce. Caz was always on about the importance of leafy greens. He and Zayn need to eat more but the last few times Harry’s bought any it’s gone to mush in the fridge. It’s a right waste. At least chips only go soggy if they’re forgotten.

“And Liam?” Niall asks, Harry thanking the woman before they move on. He hasn’t got much money to spare anyway, only had suggested meeting at the market so he could see Niall before he starts busking nearby.

“Oh, he’s,” Harry pauses, not sure how to explain it, “he’s got a party. A work… thing.”

Niall makes a face. “Goes to a lot of those, seems like.”

“Yeah.” Harry ducks into another stall so he won’t make up an elaborate lie just to fill the silence. He’s done that before, blurted out absurd things at parties just to deflect. Liam always makes the same stony face. He hates going along with Harry’s lies.

Niall’s much better at it. Last time they’d been at the park, all four of them, Liam and Niall having a kickabout while Zayn slept and Harry kept score, some bird Harry vaguely remembered from a wedding they’d both worked had spotted them, had flown right up to Liam and started yelling at him that he’d ruined her friend’s marriage or some such.

Liam’d been silent, just dead stunned, so Harry had blurted out, “Niall’s pregnant!” 

“Yup,” Niall had grinned, running his hand over his stomach. It’d worked, too, shutting the woman up just long enough that Zayn could drag Liam away while Harry and Niall nattered on about due dates and backaches. 

“Sucks for him,” is all Niall says now, fixing his snapback so the sun catches him square in the face. “Stuck working on a gorgeous day like this. Oh, shit, look over there.”

He’s always quicker than Harry thinks, gone across the market before Harry’s finished looking at summer squashes. It’s fun, though, like playing a game of tag. Farmers market tag, the two of them darting from stall to stall, touching nearly everything and buying none of it. 

**

“I swear,” Harry says, knowing that his grin is making it seem like he’s lying. It’s better this way. Makes it more impressive in the end.

Niall narrows his eyes. “Prove it.”

Harry rolls his eyes so hard Zayn would be proud, makes a big show of sighing as he furtively reaches for three apples. 

Niall’s eyes go big as saucers as Harry juggles them, concentrating so he doesn’t get flustered and drop them. He can’t afford to, literally. 

It’s even more impressive later, the two of them stood on the corner together, Harry juggling while Niall plays the strangest version of “Drop It Like It’s Hot” Harry’s ever heard. It gets a crowd, though, gets them more money than Harry’s ever seen in Niall’s case.

Niall insists they split it fifty-fifty. Harry insists the only logical way to do that is by blowing it all on pints immediately. 

For some absurd reason, Niall agrees.

** 

“This is a fucking nightmare, why is everything so fucking expensive?” Niall’s ranting devolves into nonsensical yelling. Harry pets his hair but it doesn’t work as well as it does on Zayn. 

“Can’t you just renew the lease on your current flat?” he asks carefully, worried that any sudden movements could set Niall off.

“I’m going to have to,” Niall says, his forehead all deep lines. Harry touches his fingertip to them, wanting to smooth them out. “Which fucking sucks, those fuckfaces get their hair dye _everywhere_ , it’s like living in a fucking paintball field. I’m sick of hiding my guitar all the bleeding time but if they get anything on it I’d fucking kill them. Fuck.” 

Harry’s never met Niall’s roommates, just knows they’re musicians too, that they’re five people crammed into a flat. Niall claims he loves them. As people. As roommates, not so much.

“You could move in with me and Zayn,” he says. 

Niall laughs. When Harry doesn’t, he cracks open one eye then the other. Harry smiles down at him, touching his finger to Niall’s forehead again. It’s already less crinkled.

“Harry.” His voice is softer than Harry’s ever heard it.

“It’s not much. It’s pretty shit, actually,” he laughs, thinking of their cramped space. But it’s not like Zayn’s got a lot of stuff, even after a few months. There’s plenty of room for Niall. “But at least it’s only three people? Instead of five?”

“If this is a joke --”

“It’s not,” Harry says quickly, ready to make an even better argument, but Niall’s already sitting up, nodding, thanking Christ and saying he doesn’t care if Harry wants to learn to tap dance, it’ll have to be better than Ashton practicing his drum solos at two in the morning.

**

“It’s not a problem, seriously,” Niall says, smile pasted onto his face, “all I had at my old place was a fucking broken futon. Thing didn’t even fold out anymore. This’ll just take a couple nights of getting used to.”

“It’s shit!” Zayn yells from the bedroom. “I’ve been telling him for months.”

“It’s _not_ ,” Harry says automatically, but the way Niall’s been limping around all day says different. He’s pretty sure if he touched it, Niall’s knee’d be hot, it looks so angry. Two nights on their sofa and he’s already broken. Fantastic. 

Harry wonders if maybe Grimmy wants to go out sometime soon. How many nights it’d take for them to be able to afford a new sofa. 

Zayn comes back out with his rucksack over his shoulder.

“Are you?” Harry frowns. He’d thought they were going to take a couple nights off work, help Niall get settled.

“I’m going to Liam’s,” he says, and oh, well. The bag makes more sense then. “As nice as Oasis’s greatest hits were last night --”

“Fuck off, you _requested_ Wonderwall, you cunt.” Niall throws the nearest thing he can -- one of Harry’s boots -- at Zayn, who dodges it easily, laughing. 

“-- I’m not up for a second show, so.” He does a funny little salute before beating it out the door. The flat is quiet for the first time since Niall showed up at the door, his belongings packed neatly into boxes. It’s ruined by Niall’s jaw-cracking yawn.

“That’s it, come on.” Harry all but frogmarches Niall into the bedroom, stripping down to his pants as he says, “Look, I’ve accidentally fallen asleep on that sofa before, I know how shit it really is. Zayn had a bruise from one that one really pokey spring for like, two weeks straight.”

Niall touches his back like he might have a similar bruise already.

“So just like, you can sleep in here, with me and Penelope --”

“Penelope?”

“That’s the bed, obviously. I was her one true love but now Zayn says he’s stealing her from me, it’s a very sordid affair already, why not throw you into the mix, yeah?”

“That’s. Uh.” Niall’s going a bit red, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I’ll make a pillow barrier between us if it’ll make you feel better?” Harry starts rearranging things, forming a line of pillows right along the middle of the bed. “The Great Pillow Wall of China. No, the Pillwin Wall.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Niall says, but he’s laughing and toeing off his boots. 

“No, you,” Harry stage whispers, petting the headboard. Niall rolls his eyes as Harry flops onto the mattress. If he lays flat enough, he can’t even see Niall over the pillows. It’s weird but like. Whatever works for him.

It’s a long time before Niall sighs, the mattress dipping like he’s finally getting comfortable. “I can’t believe I didn’t ask how many bedrooms you had before I moved in.”

“Now who’s the idiot?” Harry asks.

Niall very calmly lifts one of the pillows out of the barrier and smacks it down on Harry’s face. 

“Still you, Haz.”

&&&

Zayn stands up, holding his plate. “Was good, Liam.”

“Cheers,” Liam hands up his own plate, “sorry it wasn’t much, I’ve got a surprise.”

“A surprise?” Zayn fights his natural urge to shutter up at the mention of something out of the ordinary. He rinses their plates instead, watches the water swirl down the drain. “Liam.”

“Nothing crazy, I promise.” Liam stands, turning so he’s leaning against the small island in his kitchen. He’s stopped fussing about over Zayn when he tries to clean up, ages ago. “It’s why I kept it simple.”

“Was good though.” Zayn continues washing the dishes, the water so hot it stings the scrape along his one knuckle, had forgotten he’d brushed it up too fast against a bit of brick the other night. “A good stir fry isn’t that simple, anyway.”

“Suppose,” Liam laughs, and when Zayn looks over he’s biting at his lip like he’s a bit worried. “Seriously though, it’s nothing bad, I think you’ll like it.”

“Liam,” Zayn lays out a towel to place the dishes on as he washes, can tell that Liam’s antsy to leave and will be rubbish at drying up, “it’s okay. I’m not that shit about stuff, am I?”

“Well….” Liam pauses for so long that Zayn’s about to start defending himself, his stomach dropping a bit, but then Liam laughs, loud like it’s coming from deep. 

“You’re a shit,” Zayn rolls his eyes, only grinning because Liam’s happiness is contagious, “I’ll go home.”

“No you won’t,” Liam shrugs, “ _Liam, I’m coming for the night, these two are driving me up a wall_.”

“I would suffer through to avoid you,” Zayn watches Liam carefully to make sure he knows Zayn’s joking. 

“Sure, of course,” when he comes around to stand next to Zayn he’s already laughing, “finish up, think it’s finally dark enough.”

**

“I’m proper confused,” Zayn’s lost, unsure where they’re even headed, feels like Liam’s been leading him around in circles for ages in an unfamiliar part of town, “are you planning on murdering me, Liam? Tell the truth.”

“Yeah,” Liam snorts, tugging at Zayn’s wrist, “you got me there.”

“I was only half joking,” Zayn almost misses where Liam turns, leading them down a quiet street filled with little shops. There’s an alley behind, cleaner than any one Zayn’s ever seen. Liam stops short then, Zayn bumping into his back.

“Okay?” Liam asks, then takes a step back when Zayn nods, spreading his arms out wide, “Zayn, this is it.”

“This is what?” Zayn doesn’t see much, just a big white wall and a bin. “The scene of my death?”

“Met a bloke at an event,” Liam’s breathless, like he can barely stand whatever he’s trying to say, “he was talking about how his shop was so boring, how he wished that a like, Banksy type would color it up a bit. Said I might know someone who’d do it for free.”

“Liam,” Zayn feels less confused now, thinks he gets what Liam’s on about, pointing at the wall again. “Liam.”

“Just, all your drawings, and I know that, erm,” Liam looks flustered for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing in a rush, “I know Louis wasn’t the one who had spray painted the van? So.”

“Liam,” Zayn says again, watches as Liam kneels down and reaches into his rucksack, pulling out a towel first that he spreads out before lining up what seems like a never ending stream of cans of spray paint, then a couple of masks.

“He asked that I have you do it at night, so he can pretend that it was a like, spontaneous thing? Just no like...nothing inappropriate.” Liam stands back up, holding out one of the masks. “Zayn?”

“So I can just…” Zayn waves his hand about, “do what I want?”

“Yes!” Liam’s smile is so big it’s like he’s glowing in the dark. “I’m sorry if I got the wrong colors, I sort of paid attention to the ones you liked best in the comics and the like.”

“You sneaky bastard,” Zayn says lightly, remembering the other day when he’d gotten annoyed at Liam, asking him all this shit while he was trying to read the new Spiderman. 

“So this is alright?” Liam steps forward, holding out the mask again, “It’s not rubbish? A good surprise?”

“It’s a --” Zayn swallows, taking the mask from Liam finally, feeling like he’s regaining his bearings, “it’s a brilliant surprise, Liam. Really.”

“Sick!” Liam bounces up and down a couple of times like he’s been spending too many nights with Harry. “Should I...do you need me to hand you things? Shake up the cans?”

Zayn laughs, the warm air of the late summer night doing nothing for the gooseflesh spreading over his arms. “You can just watch, Liam. Unless you wanna have a go?”

Zayn drops to his knees, looking over the colors Liam’s picked. He got it right, Zayn realizes, it’s all his favorites. He chooses a black first, figures he’ll go with some outlines and see what happens from there.

“No, this is for you,” Liam’s talking in a whisper, almost, squatting down so he’s eye level with Zayn. “I mean, er, I’m rubbish, I don’t want this bloke to regret it.”

“He might still,” Zayn shakes the can, the dull rattle of it making him feel jittery. “Put on a mask then, Liam, don’t know if I could carry you all the way home if you pass out from the fumes.”

Liam beams, doing so and stepping back when Zayn does something easy first, the outline of a bike. 

“This is brilliant,” Liam’s voice is only slightly muffled, and when Zayn glances back his eyes are all crinkled up over the edge of the mask. “You’re like, proper talented mate.”

Zayn laughs, feeling like he needs to catch his breath. “Liam, can you get the green ready for me, actually? It’d be a real help.”

“On it,” Liam reaches down while Zayn starts a new line, his constant stream of chatter providing a nice layer of background noise while Zayn works, feeling more settled than he has in a long, long time.

**

“Gonna send this to Harry,” Liam’s flat on his back on his bed, thumbing at the screen of his phone. “Think this is the best pic of it, yeah?”

He angles his screen, and Zayn cranes his neck so he can see. He still can’t believe it, that he spent hours and hours filling up a wall with whatever nonsense he wanted. 

“Yeah,” Zayn scratches at Loki’s ears from where he’s curled up between them, “that’s the best one, I think.”

“Sent.” Liam reaches over to set his phone down. “Can’t wait to hear what he’ll say.”

“He’ll probably not see it for a bit,” Zayn shrugs, “he and Niall are probably out and about.”

Liam laughs, turning carefully so he’s looking at Zayn. “What’s up there? Think we’re witnessing a love connection? What, I can’t think of a better way to say it, don’t pull a face.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t pulling a face.”

“I disagree,” Liam snorts, “but anyway, Harry seems very taken with Niall, and it seems like Niall agrees.”

“Niall agrees that Harry’s taken with him?” Zayn adjusts the pillow under his head. 

“You know what I meant.” Liam smiles, “I think it’s lovely to see, Harry needs something like that, I think.”

“Harry seems to be fine.” Zayn thinks about it. “What do you mean?”

“Dunno,” Liam strokes at the spot between Loki’s eyes that always makes him go to sleep, “I’m not saying Harry’s not happy, like? He’s the happiest person I know. I just mean...he needs something like. Solid?” He laughs. “Am I talking a load of rubbish right now? Please tell me if I am.”

“I--” Zayn watches Liam, at how he’s biting at his lip like he’s really working something out. It surges up then, this feeling like Zayn wants to tip Liam’s chin up. Run his thumb over his full bottom lip and snog him. Just to see what happens. It’s an odd want, something new but not at the same time, feels like his veins are thrumming with it. 

“Zayn?” Liam’s saying his name, looking worried when Zayn meets his eyes. “You alright? If it was rubbish, you can just tell me.”

“No,” Zayn shakes his head, trying to clear it. “It makes sense, I’ve never really thought of Hazza that way. Plus I dunno, I think you’re the happiest person I know.” Once Zayn says it he realizes it’s true, Liam always this unflappable source of positivity.

Liam hums, his face clouding up for a moment. “I try, but I think we all have our moments.”

Zayn feels floored for a second, looking at Liam’s face. He thinks about how Liam knew Louis for ages before Zayn even met him, how Louis used to be. He must be silent for too long, because Liam’s hand is suddenly on his arm, palm warm against his skin.

“Not for a long time though, yeah?” Liam’s speaking slow, “And...you, too?”

“Yeah,” Zayn takes a deep breath. “Me too.”

Zayn closes his eyes while Liam hums, trying to will himself to sleep before anything else can pop into his head.

**

Zayn’s sweating by the time he gets back to the flat, regretting that he’d turned down a ride from Liam.

“Alright, I’ll text you later!” Liam had said, smiling away after they’d had cereal for breakfast, real low key. Zayn just. He felt like he needed a walk, to think about some things. He doesn’t think that anything has changed, really, just...a little more awareness, like. Maybe if he doesn’t think about it too much. 

Which isn’t hard, when he’s sweating his bollocks off, letting himself in the flat and flipping on the fan they’d splurged on immediately. Niall’s not on the sofa, Zayn hearing Harry humming in the bedroom. Niall must have already gone out, probably out at the pub he’s been working at part time.

Zayn pushes Liam further out of his mind, doing the maths. It’s nicer now that it’s split three ways, but he knows he and Harry have been going out much less lately, still been strapped more often than not.

“Oi, Harry!” Zayn calls out, pushing open the door to the bedroom, “think we’re three blowjobs short on rent, bro, so let’s go out tonight, yeah? We’ll rocks, paper, scissor for the third unless you’ve got Nick, and if you do fire again it’s an automatic loss.”

He stops short when the door swings open, freezing at the pained look on Harry’s face, Niall sprawled out beside him with his eyes wide. There are cards on the bed between them like they were playing at something, and they’ve been so careful not to tell Niall what, exactly, they do, being real vague and, as Harry puts it, “easing him into it”. Well.

“Um,” Niall says after a moment, “I have a lot of questions, but…..fire?”

&&&

“Thanks mate,” Bressie takes the pint from Niall, drumming his fingers on the bar. “Been a long day, figure I’m due.”

“It’s your pub, so,” Niall laughs, “I think you’re more than square.”

“Yeah,” Bressie takes a long drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “So, was gonna ask, you’ve been doing well here.”

“That a question?” Niall laughs; Bressie’s been ace for him -- was always proper nice when he’d come in, offering him a job the second he found out they were both from Mullingar. “Not much to offer, not at the start, but it’s something.” Niall’s been real grateful. For a lot of things. Had found the pub job right around the same time he met Harry. Like a real windfall of good things.

“I just mean,” Bressie grins around his pint, “we’ve been doing more here, think I can have you pick up a few more shifts.”

“Yeah?” Niall tries to keep himself in check, doesn’t want to go off on a tear and act a twat in front of Bressie when he’s offering him so much help, always. 

“Yeah mate, cheers.” Bressie laughs when Niall fills a pint with water quick so they can do a toast. 

“Was gonna ask,” Niall chews at his nail, feels the nerves prick up again, “you thought any about it? Me playing here some nights?”

“I want to, yeah,” Bressie looks pained, like he wishes he was telling Niall much different. “We’ve got the nights so booked up here, but I think soon we can fit it in. Do a proper gig or something.”

“‘Course, yeah,” Niall exhales, tries to keep it even, “I appreciate it. I’ll stop asking you, one day.”

“I would hope not, I’d know you were dead then.” Bressie laughs. “Alright, you get out of here, I’ll close up. Don’t forget your tips.”

**

Niall takes his time walking home, the weather finally cooling off a bit that it’s only blazing hot during the day; at night, there’s usually a bit of a breeze, even when it’s humid. It’s nice, ruffling through his hair. He wonders if Hazza and Zayn went out tonight.

Since he found out what they do, it’s been mental; the two of them talking openly about tossing off blokes in carparks or wherever. Niall honestly doesn’t care, is the thing. In fact, like he’d told Harry after Zayn’d slipped, he was more put off that they did try to hide it from him. Even if he’d understood. 

To be honest, it makes him feel a bit better about how sometimes he’d see marks on Harry’s neck, little love bites or bruises on his hip when he’s dancing about the flat with his kit half off. He had assumed that was the end of it; that Harry was gonna be a great mate and nothing else. And he was all sorted that way, never one to mope about when things aren’t how they could be in his own mind. But now. Niall’s not sure. He’s going with it. 

He shares Penelope with Harry now, flat out. Zayn’s off at Liam’s half the week usually anyway, had claimed he was fine with the sofa over and over again. Which Niall knows is a big fucking lie, because the sofa’s shit, but he’s not one to turn down a gift when it’s presented to him. And this on top of moving out the flat with all those twats who are back in Australia right now anyway was the first gift of many, it seems.

“Niall!!!” Harry is home when he lets himself in, Zayn and Liam too, clearing up from dinner. 

“Hey,” Niall returns Harry’s hug, “what’s on?”

“There’s a plate for you,” Zayn shrugs, “Liam and I were gonna go on the balcony for a smoke.”

“I was trying to convince Zayn to come out with me, I’ve got an easy gig and need a spare.” Liam frowns, and it’s something Niall’s heard a lot about since they were all out with it.

“Gonna keep saying no,” Zayn grins, “but go on then, Liam.”

“Can’t...Harry…” Niall trails off, still not sure how to phrase it. Go off? Get off? Escort seems such a twat way to put it.

Harry shakes his head, still snaked around Niall’s middle. “Can’t, it’s next week, Jeff’s in town. Need to be available in case he calls.”

“Hey,” Liam’s eyes light up, and he sets down the plate he was drying, “Niall. It’s a small gig, think it’ll be 150 quid? Could get you in.”

“Niall, _yes_ ,” Harry says, at the same time Zayn shakes his head, putting on an awful face.

“Niall, no,” Zayn frowns. “It’s awful.” He pushes at Liam’s shoulder when he makes a noise like he’s offended.

“Hold on,” Niall feels like he’s getting too much information at once, hasn’t even set down his guitar yet, “how fucking much?”

“Niall, you’re gonna have so much fun,” Harry’s dancing around the room, humming some shit song while Liam cracks up, Zayn even managing a small smile, “you’re gonna make one lucky lady’s dreams come true.”

“Didn’t say yes yet, did I,” Niall manages, Harry ignoring him and pushing at his arm until his guitar’s on the floor, spinning Niall around while Liam talks some bollocks about getting his measurements for a suit while Zayn ducks out on the balcony already, declaring himself done with them all.

**

“Don’t think I’m wearing this right,” Niall calls out from the dressing room, frustrated after the last bloody forever of trying on more shit that Liam and Harry pick out. It’s just one do; he already feels weird that Liam’s fronting him the money for it.

“It’s like an investment,” Liam’d shrugged. “We all have a good suit except Zayn. Consider it like, a gift.”

“Don’t need one, I look sick without,” Zayn had argued, then gone back to sketching out Loki while he was flopped over in a patch of sun on the grass.

But now. Niall frowns at the waistcoat, feels like he looks a right cunt in it. 

“Niall,” Harry barges in, the room feeling very small all of a sudden. “That is NOT how you wear that.”

“No shit,” Niall tries to straighten his tie, holding himself still while Harry pulls at all his clothes, his hands bloody everywhere. Christ. Niall could do with not sporting a semi in a dressing room just because Harry’s so close. 

“Alright,” Harry steps back to admire his work, blocking the mirror, “out with it, I think this’ll work, but Liam and Zayn have to approve.”

“Can’t I just --” Niall tries to push at Harry so he can see, but Harry’s already pushing him out the curtain, where Liam’s sat next to a sleeping Zayn.

“Oi,” Liam pokes at Zayn’s side, just like every time Niall comes out in a new getup. “Need your opinion.”

“Looks shit,” Zayn yawns, eyes blinking open. “Oh, no, that one’s not bad.”

“You think?” Niall says, watching Liam nod next to Zayn, “I look square?”

“More than,” Liam grins, “you’re gonna smash it, mate.”

Harry’s busying himself about, swiping at what Niall knows is nonexistent lint and wrinkles on his new suit, fingers catching on the curve of his arse. 

“Harry,” Zayn says, and when Niall looks up there’s a smirk on his face. Niall wishes he would stuff it.

“Just making sure,” Harry drops his arm around Niall’s shoulder then, pulling him in close so they’re facing Zayn and Liam, “I think this is the one, lads.”

**

It’s the fourth fucking time just this week that Niall’s been caught out busking in the rain, lashing down on him constantly. His guitar’s gonna end up warped at this rate. He swears to himself as he changes his clothes back at the flat, giving up and grabbing one of Harry’s vests because he can’t find a clean one himself. 

“Great,” he says to no one when he steps back out into the kitchen, peering out the window at the sun that’s finally showing itself. “A wasted day then.”

He grabs a towel and an orange, climbing out on the balcony and settling in with his notebook, jotting down some ideas for songs he’s had lately. He wonders if he could get away with mentioning green eyes without Harry catching on it’s about him. Well. Maybe then he’d have to cut the bit about the dimples, too. One or the other. He’s still scribbling when he can hear the sounds of someone coming into the flat, Harry’s head peeking out the window a moment later.

“Niall!” Harry’s got a wide grin on his face, still kitted up fancy from some do he went to with one of his clients, the American one. “You out here for a bit? I’ll change and come out.”

“Yeah,” Niall grins. “Cheers, Hazza.”

Harry disappears then, Niall hearing him tear through the flat as he changes, crashing about. If there’s anything to be said about Harry, he definitely has a presence. A very distinct one. Niall closes his notebook, wondering how much of a mess Harry’s making. He’d only tidied up just the other day. 

“Alright,” Harry’s climbing out then, wearing a ridiculous combination of shorts and one of his ripped up flannels, unbuttoned. It makes Niall’s stomach jolt a bit, and he laughs to himself at how the dumbest bloody things about Harry set him off. “What you up to, Nialler?”

“Just,” Niall taps his knuckles on the notebook. “Got rained out, was working on some songs.”

“Heyyyy,” Harry’s face breaks out in a slow grin, “did Bressie book you in now? Working up a like,” he wiggles his shoulders, “set or some such?”

Niall laughs, Harry shimmying harder when he does, “no, not yet. I write all the time, though.”

“Can I see?” Harry asks, flopping down in Niall’s lap and looking up at him. He reaches down for the notebook, Niall freezing and circling his hand loosely around Harry’s wrist.

“I’d prefer it if I was like,” Niall squeezes a little, watches Harry’s eyes go dark for a moment, “done? I’ll play one for you.”

Harry nods, his curls tickling at Niall’s knee where he’s got a scar from knee surgery, a couple of years before. It sets him on edge. 

“No problem,” Harry says easily, wiggling about like he’s getting comfortable, which is bloody fucking distracting. “You ready for tomorrow?”

“Suppose I am,” Niall thinks for a moment, looking out and worrying his lip between his teeth. “You really just have to take ‘em out, show ‘em a good time?”

Harry pokes at Niall’s chin until he looks down, at Harry’s easy grin. “Really. And honestly, Niall, who wouldn’t have an amazing time with you for an afternoon? Just be you, and you’ll be settled up nicely.”

“That is, if I can get my head through the window back to the flat, the way you’re bigging me up right now.” Niall leans his weight back against the brick of the building so he’s situated better enough to set his hand at Harry’s chest, just resting it there for a moment before tracing his fingertip light, over the dip of Harry’s chin.

“Just stating the facts,” when Harry talks, Niall’s finger slides up and bumps along Harry’s bottom lip, the plump of it. 

“Cheers, Haz.” Niall does it again, when Harry’s done talking. So Harry will know it wasn’t an accident, not really. Harry’s eyes are wide, eyelashes fluttering when he turns his head slightly and flicks his tongue out against the pad of Niall’s finger. 

They stay there for a moment, Niall feeling like he’s frozen. He wonders if Harry senses it, because he licks at Niall’s finger one more time before sitting up, a slow smile on his face. He reaches up when they’re eye level, threading his fingers through Niall’s hair and tugging slightly. 

“Oh Niall,” he says, Niall gone boneless into his touch, “I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”

Niall laughs, feeling like the tension’s broken. “It’s only a night, Hazza.”

Harry shrugs, ducking his head to kiss Niall’s cheek sloppily, still holding Niall’s head steady. 

“I stand by it,” he says, and Niall pokes at Harry’s wrist, the two of them wrestling about until Harry nearly goes off the ledge, Niall making an executive decision that they should go back in, see to dinner.

&&&

_going home x_

Harry responds to Zayn’s text with a simple _k_ before tucking his phone back into his pocket. He’s already made a killing tonight -- seems Zayn has, too, if he’s turning in -- and he could probably go home, but it’s early yet.

He ducks down the alley, coming out the opposite end. He and Zayn stick to the other corner, but there are people working down here, too. Probably always have been, even though Harry hadn’t known about this side until -- 

“Skulking about in the shadows again, Harold?”

“You know me,” Harry offers Louis a thumbs up and a crooked smile, “a proper villain.”

Louis snorts, scuffing his toes against the ground. He looks… the same, Harry decides, after a careful assessment. His hair’s longer, his jaw littered with stubble, but otherwise he still looks like Louis.

“Good night?” he asks, offering Harry a cigarette before lighting his own. 

Harry nods. “You?”

“Yup.” 

“Good,” Harry says, staring down the street. He leans back against the wall, feeling the rough brick catch on his shirt. “That’s good.”

“Yes,” Louis sounds annoyed, sarcastic, “it sure is.”

Harry keeps looking down the way. He’s got plenty of questions he wants to ask, but when Louis is in a mood like this it’s a bit like navigating a minefield. It’s not always like this when Harry stops by, but… usually it is. 

Which is shit, really. Harry misses Louis, the one from before. This one’s cold, hard. Harry always hopes, when he sees him, that Louis’ll be in one of his fun moods, when they might get food and talk about everything that’s not Zayn.

After a moment Louis sighs. He sounds tired when he asks, “Did you need anything, Harry? Pills, or…” 

“No, I,” Harry pauses. Louis _knows_ why Harry comes round sometimes, that it’s got nothing to do with pills or weed or a warning about the grey Range Rover that’s started cruising on Tuesday nights. “I’m good, yeah. Don’t really do that much anymore.”

He means Zayn doesn’t, knows that Louis knows it. Harry was never one for El’s pills. Zayn still smokes before coming out here, but he’s doing everything so much less lately. Harry wants to tell Louis he’s doing well, just like he sometimes wants to tell Zayn he’s seen Louis, that he’s alright. He never does. Never would.

“Suit yourself.” Louis gestures to the car rolling up the street. “Duty calls.”

“Yeah,” Harry waves him off, “course.”

Louis drops his cig to the ground, crushing it under his heel. “See you around, Hazza.”

He doesn’t look back. Harry only sticks around long enough to text Zayn. _On my way_

**

“C’mon, Nialler, give us a twirl.” Harry spins his finger around until Niall does, showing off his suit. He flips the jacket up, sticking his arse out and wiggling. Harry applauds, Zayn whistling his appreciation. The bird he’s escorting tonight had better appreciate how well he cleans up. 

Niall’d had a bad week busking, too much rain making it nearly impossible to bring in enough. Liam’s latest lady-in-dire-need had come at the perfect time.

“You too, Liam,” Zayn says. Liam rolls his eyes and spins. 

“Boooooo,” Harry yells when Liam doesn’t show them his bum.

“You’ve seen me in this suit hundreds of times before,” Liam says to them.

“And you’ve never once wiggled your bum for us,” Harry says. “What kind of a mate are you?”

“The worst kind.” Zayn shakes his head like he’s disappointed. 

It’s hilarious, watching the war that plays out on Liam’s face in the few short seconds before he heaves a sigh and turns around, shaking his arse for them. 

“I wish I had money to throw at you,” Harry says, delighting in how Liam’s ears get even redder. He doesn’t have to look over to know Zayn’s got a blush; he can hear it in his stilted laugh.

Liam gasps when Niall smacks his arse, his whole body jolting. “C’mon, Miley Cyrus, we’re going to be late.”

Harry scrambles off the sofa to hug them both goodbye. “For luck,” he says, off Liam’s odd look. 

“He’s never hugged me good luck before,” Liam whispers to Zayn, who shoves him towards the door.

“It’s just a party, Haz,” Niall says, his breath ruffling Harry’s hair. “But thanks.”

“Eat loads of apps for me,” he says. “Especially those mini quiches, if they have them.”

Niall laughs, ducking out of the way when Harry goes to ruffle his hair. “See you later.”

“They grow up so fast,” Zayn says, throwing his arm around Harry’s shoulders and pretending to wipe a tear away. The last thing they see is Niall’s hand coming back through the door just so he can flip them off.

**

“Think I’m gonna head out,” Zayn says after a bit, probably sick of watching Harry clean the flat. He felt antsy sitting around, needed to do something to burn off this energy. Normally he’d go out, but he wants to stick around, isn’t sure when exactly Niall’s due back. “Told Liam I’d feed Loki for him. Think I might just stay there after.”

Harry nods. Zayn’s been staying there more and more lately. He stays here, too, always moans about how the sofa’s fucked up his back afterwards, slumps about looking pitiful until Harry gives him a massage. 

Zayn crowds up behind him, hugging him and then kissing his temple. “You missed a spot.” He taps a grimy spot near the wall. 

“Fuck off,” Harry elbows him in the gut, laughing. “Don’t see you cleaning.”

“And you won’t.” He kisses Harry again, pinching his nipple before moving away. “Niall, maybe.”

“Doubtful.”

Zayn makes a face. “He definitely would. This place has been ten times tidier since he moved in.”

It has, Harry’ll give him that. Niall likes things to be in their place. Zayn straightens some of the magnets on the fridge, the closest he’s come to helping all night. He flicks a note still stuck there, Harry’s fake grocery list from last week, bananas written over and over and then orange at the very bottom. _Orange you glad I didn’t say bananas?_ written underneath. Not his finest work, but Niall’d written _Hahahahaahahahahahahahaha GOOD ONE HAZ_ on it anyway. 

“Sometimes I wonder,” Zayn shakes his head, “did you create him in a lab, Harry? Because how else did you find someone so perfect for you?”

“What?” Harry sputters into his laughter, loud and sudden. “No. What?”

Zayn rolls his eyes, easily ducking the sponge Harry chucks at him. “No one else would laugh at this joke, Hazza. Not even a five year old.”

“You laughed when I said it to you that time in Asda.” Everyone would laugh at that joke. It’s _funny_. Stupid, but funny. 

“It was a pity laugh,” Zayn says dryly. He’s unfazed by Harry’s incredulous scoff, boldly ducking back in to hug Harry goodbye. “See you tomorrow, yeah? We should go out, rent’s due next week and it’ll be close.”

“It’s a date.” Harry tries to swat Zayn’s arse but he’s too slow. It’s proper weird once he’s gone; Harry can’t remember the last time he was fully alone in the flat. 

He doesn’t know what it is that’s got this itch under his skin, but Harry feels like he can’t settle. By the time he hears Niall’s key in the door, the entire flat is cleaner than it’s been in ages. Possibly since before Harry moved in.

“Oh, you’re still up,” Niall says, looking surprised to see Harry stood in front of him.

Harry makes a face. “It’s not that late.” Is it? No, the clock says it’s barely midnight. 

“Did you go out?” Niall undoes his tie before shrugging out of his jacket. His movements are very careful, controlled; on Zayn it’d be normal. It’s weird to see Niall so tense.

“No. Chilled with Zayn for a bit, then he left and I…” Harry trails off, wondering if it sounds lame to admit that he scrubbed the flat from top to bottom on a Friday night. “How’d it go?”

“It was fine.” Harry follows Niall as he goes to change, hanging up his suit neatly. Niall makes a face at himself. “Weird. I didn’t… Zayn said it would be horrible --”

“Zayn says that about a lot of things,” Harry points out, sitting on the corner of the bed. Niall laughs and shrugs. After a moment he sits down, leaving a good amount of space between them. Harry frowns at it, at the rigid set of Niall’s shoulders. “Liam drop you off?”

“No, I took a taxi. Liam…”

“Moved the party to a second location?” Harry offers when the silence goes on a bit too long. It makes Niall laugh but doesn’t dislodge the pinched look from his face.

Harry scrambles up the bed, patting the space next to him until Niall comes up. He’s not skittish, never one to shy away from a good cuddle, but Harry still feels like he needs to move slowly when he slips his arm round Niall’s shoulders, tucking him in close.

“So,” Harry skates his fingers along Niall’s arm, not scratching, just soothing, “it wasn’t a nightmare like Zayn promised, but.”

Niall’s breath is warm on Harry’s skin when he exhales. “Dunno if I can explain it, Haz. It was… it was _weird_. I didn’t hate it but I didn’t like it, either. Seeing Liam like that, he’s just -- he’s so fucking good at it.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Harry grins, feeling a surge of pride. It’s like Liam is a born people-pleaser, makes everyone feel important when he’s talking to them.

“Yeah, but all I could think of was how fake it was,” Niall says, Harry’s stomach twisting in a weird way, “because I know what Liam’s like when he’s really interested in what you’re saying and I can tell the difference in his real laugh and his fake one. And it was all so bloody uncomfortable, sitting through it, laughing at jokes that were only sort of funny because I was supposed to be the perfect date.”

He’s pulled away from Harry, just enough to put actual space between them again. He bites at the edge of his thumbnail so hard Harry worries it’ll end up bleeding.

“I just felt, dunno, used? Sort of? Like, I was so aware of the fact that I was getting paid to be there that I couldn’t relax.” Niall wipes his hand on his top, sighing. “It was real weird, is all. I didn’t like feeling like that.”

Harry tries to remember if he’d ever felt like that, even back in the beginning when it was Caz parading him around. Even when she’d started asking if he’d mind a go with her friends, he never… never felt fake. Sometimes now, sure, if he’s tossing someone off it’s perfunctory, no real emotions behind it, but Harry’s always had fun when he goes out with regulars, or when Liam needs a spare. Always felt like he was showing someone a good time.

“You don’t have to do it again,” he says, feeling like he should even though it’s obvious. “Just tell Liam no. Zayn’s flat-out refused for so long he’s used to it.”

Niall cracks a smile and shakes his head. Harry can’t tell if he’s really relaxing or if Harry just wants him to so badly he’s imagining things. 

“No, it’s like,” Niall shakes his head, “I wasn’t miserable. I’d do it again if I needed to. One-off deals, you know? But not. I wouldn’t ever shag my girl after.”

“Liam only does that sometimes,” Harry says, unsure why he feels the need to point it out. Niall still looks so off it’s making him feel off, too, “if they kick in extra.”

“Right, well,” Niall shifts, laying his head on the pillow. Harry makes himself take a deep breath and then another. “I’m not really into that anyway, so.”

Harry hums. He can feel Niall watching out of the corner of his eye; he smiles and scoots a bit closer, until he and Niall are sharing the pillow, both staring up at the ceiling. He wonders if it’d be better if Niall escorted with blokes then, or if he’d feel just as weird that way. If it’d all still seem fake. If it’s the idea of shagging someone for money that’s the root of it all. Which.

“Nialler?”

“Yeah?” Niall’s voice is equally soft. 

“Does it bother you, what Zayn and I do?” He’s honestly curious.

“What?” Niall rolls onto his side, his eyes gone wide like he’s panicked, “No, Haz, of course not. Just because I wouldn’t want to do it doesn’t mean -- fuck,” he breathes out, his spine carrying even more tension than it had been. Harry feels like a shit for putting it there. “I couldn’t be arsed what you do, I thought you… I thought you knew that.”

“I did. I do.” Harry touches Niall’s shoulder, wanting him to relax again, “I just. Wanted to make sure, I guess. What you were saying made me wonder.”

“Haz.”

“It’s all good, Niall. Honest.” He moves his hand up, tries to work some of the stress out of the base of Niall’s neck from this awkward angle. 

Niall laughs a bit, relaxing under Harry’s touch. His face gets a bit smoother too, his smile going soft. Harry feels bad he had such a shit time tonight. It would’ve been so much better if he’d stuck around, helped get some cleaning done. They could’ve floated him til next month. Harry scoots closer so he can dig his fingers in more.

“Feels nice,” Niall mumbles, watching him with heavy eyelids. Harry wishes it were better than that. He wants Niall to feel good. Ace. 

“Hey,” he says, bumping Niall’s knee with his own, making Niall blink his eyes fully open. If Harry stretches his hand out, he can touch the corner of Niall’s jaw, feel the sharp jut of the bone there. Niall’s lips curve up the slightest bit before Harry leans in, keeping the press of his lips to Niall’s light in case Niall wants to break away.

But Niall doesn’t. The curve of his smile gets wider before he tilts his head, fixing the angle, turning it into a real kiss and then something deeper. He holds onto Harry’s hip as they snog, the callouses on his fingertips making something in Harry spark like a livewire whenever they accidentally dip under his top.

Harry keeps kissing Niall until he’s completely pliant, both of them sinking into the mattress like they’re boneless lumps. He pulls back enough to watch Niall’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks and then ducks back in again to kiss him, quick and soft. It’s unreal how he can tell Niall’s smiling just by watching the corners of his eyes.

“Haz,” Niall says, the words stretching around a yawn. It’s late as hell. Late enough that it’s about to be early again. 

“Feel better?” Harry asks. He touches Niall’s cheekbone gently, runs his fingertip along the space on his forehead where he’d had deep lines before. They’re gone now. Harry’s glad.

“Yeah,” Niall laughs through his nose, “cheers, Harry.”

Harry smiles, feeling like he’s going to drop off any second. Niall’s in the same boat, judging by how he can hardly keep his eyes open. 

“Anytime,” he says, feeling Niall squeeze his hip. 

&&&

Zayn’s been finished with his cig for ten minutes now, working up the energy to head inside, when Niall slips out onto the balcony with him. He looks tired, has since his night out with Liam a few days back. Liam had come back in the middle of the night, woken Zayn up nattering on about how ace it had been, how much fun it was to have Niall there, too. 

He’d figured Niall felt the same way -- Haz loves it, Liam loves it, Zayn knows he’s the odd man out in this one -- until he got home and asked how it’d gone. He still feels a bit bad for laughing at Niall’s grim reply. 

“How’s it going, Nialler?” 

“Not bad, yeah.” Niall sits next to him instead of across the way, like he doesn’t give a fuck about Zayn’s personal space. He never has, rolled into their lives like a bowling ball Harry’d chucked at them. 

Niall sighs, deep enough that Zayn moves with it, Niall’s shoulders hitting his. When he looks over, Niall’s got his head tipped back against the bricks. The glare from the sunset makes it hard to see, but Zayn can make out the way his face is tense. It’s unsettling. He makes himself look away, rests his head against the wall the same way.

“You’ve known Harry for a long time, yeah?” Niall asks after what feels like ages.

Zayn starts to say no, only about a year, but it seems like so much longer when he thinks about it. It feels like he’s known Harry his whole life at this point. “Yeah, I guess.”

He turns his head, cracks one eye open to see Niall fidgeting. 

“It was Liam,” he says, not sure why he feels compelled to fill the silence. “He knew Haz through their whole circle and when Haz ran into some hard times he sent him to me and --,” Zayn catches himself. It’s easier not to dredge that up, not when Niall doesn’t know Louis from Adam, “and I showed him where I worked. Kept an eye on him. And now.” He shrugs, doesn’t know what else to say about it. “Here we are.”

“Here we are,” Niall echoes, laughing a bit. “You keep picking up strays, eh?”

“Oh no,” Zayn claps Niall’s leg, “don’t try to act like you followed _me_ home. Haz found you fair and square. Besides, if anything, Haz is the collector. Gave me a place to stay when I needed one.”

“Yeah?”

Zayn nods. He doesn’t like to dwell on it because it’s mental, thinking how much owes Harry. “I wanted to paint ‘Styles’ Home for Wayward Lads’ over the door after you moved in, but Haz said he’d never get the security deposit back.” 

“Fuck you, I’m not wayward,” Niall says, elbowing him. 

“Two out of three, then.” Zayn shrugs, smiling. Him and Haz are wayward enough for three people anyway.

“Harry’s,” Niall stops almost as quick as he starts. After he thinks about it he laughs, says, “He’s a lot, like…”

“Yeah.” Zayn remembers what that was like, how overwhelming Harry’s easy-going charm had been in the beginning. It’s got to be ten times worse for Niall, what with Harry so gone for him he’s turning it up unconsciously, focusing all his energy on Niall like a laser beam. “He’s a good egg, though. Means well.”

Zayn doesn’t know when he turned into his mum, talking Harry up like this, but the realization makes something in his mouth go sour for a split second. 

“Shit at telling stories,” he adds, Niall laughing loud enough that a few pigeons flee a neighboring roof top, “but…”

“I know.” There’s something odd in Niall’s voice, a hesitance Zayn’s never heard before. “So he’s been a,” he pauses, talks around it, “you’ve worked together for as long as you’ve known him?”

The way he says it makes them sound like he and Haz have boring office jobs with cubicles and water coolers and shit; it makes Zayn laugh.

“Yeah. If you want to put it that way.” 

Niall hums. For some reason it makes Zayn want to explain it, only he doesn’t know how. Doesn’t even know _what_ he wants to explain, only that he feels like he needs to defend himself. Defend them both. It’s just a job. Just quick, easy money.

“But like,” Niall turns, facing Zayn head-on, “you don’t ever go out with Liam. Harry does.”

Zayn nods. “Sometimes. Because he likes it. I’m rubbish at small talk, but that’s like… Haz could have an enlightening conversation with a parrot if he set his mind to it.”

“That’s why you hated it so much? I thought it was like…”

Niall’s quiet for so long Zayn’s skin starts to crawl. “What?” 

“Dunno,” he says, looking away. “I thought the whole thing was weird. Felt used, like. And I thought,” he laughs at himself, is quiet for a long time before he says, “I dunno what I thought.”

Zayn feels his face go hot while Niall’s talking. Harry and Liam and fuck, even Louis, everything’s always been face value with them. This is how you pay the bills. This is how you stay alive. He’s always known, deep down, that it’s completely fucked. But at this point he doesn’t know any other way.

“Hey,” he says, making his voice sound normal even if he can’t bring himself to look towards Niall, “we’ve all got our reasons. It is what it is, yeah?”

He bites his lip when he thinks of Louis again, stops just shy of drawing blood. He’d been doing so well lately.

“Yeah,” Niall smiles, just enough sunlight left that he looks golden, “it is what it is. Sick, I like that. Thanks, Zayner.”

Zayn’s laugh feels forced. He watches Niall slip back inside, knows he should go too, that it’s going to get real cold quickly, but it’s a long time before he can get enough of his wits about him to move. 

It’s gone completely dark by the time he does. Niall’s in the kitchen, singing some old song Zayn half-recognizes, rinsing a bowl of something in the sink. It’s so normal it feels foreign, like Zayn’s landed in an alternate universe where everything’s the same except something minor. No shrimp. Harry has straight hair. Niall’s grossed out by what his roommates do for money.

“Honeys, I’m home!” Harry shouts, swinging the door open with gusto. He spots Zayn first, dropping his bag and planting a smacking kiss on his cheek. He does the same to Niall, seemingly oblivious to the way Niall flinches before surrendering to it. Zayn’s not oblivious, though. He sees it clear as day.

It’s sudden, visceral, the way the need to leave rushes up in him.

“Get off me, Christ,” Niall shoves Harry away, the both of them laughing, “I’ll spill this and then you’ll be left with rice for dinner. How’s that sound?”

“Bland,” Harry says, reaching around Niall to pull plates from the cupboard. He starts to set three places.

“No, it’s alright, I’m heading out,” Zayn says, already moving towards the door, “so none for me, thanks.”

He’s gone before he can see their reactions, taking the stairs two at a time, his blood rushing loud in his ears.

**

He’s halfway to Liam’s before he remembers they don’t actually have plans tonight.

“Hi,” he says, relieved when Liam answers his phone on the first ring, “you’re home, right?”

“Yup, just watching _Bake-Off_. It’s making me wish for a tea loaf. Why, do you want to come over?”

“I was nearby.”

“Oh, nice. Have you eaten? I’ll put a pan on, cheese toasties okay?”

“Yeah,” Zayn’s throat feels tight all of a sudden but he keeps on, “sounds good.”

**

It’s easy, being at Liam’s, eating dinner in front of the telly, Liam yelling about burnt brioche while Zayn sneaks Loki bits of his crust. If he doesn’t think about it, it’s like the ache in his chest is completely gone.

Liam’s phone rings at the end of the show. “Soz,” he says, passing Zayn the remote before he answers, “Hi, Mum. Yeah, I’m just hanging out with one of my mates. He says hi. Yeah, we watched, it was ridiculous!”

He mouths _be right back_ before ducking out of the room, laughing at something his mum’s said. Just like that, the ache is back tenfold.

It’s not long before Liam’s back, tossing his phone onto the coffee table before sitting down again.

“She likes to call every week, complain about the judging.” His smile’s wide, maybe wider than Zayn’s ever seen it, he can’t remember. 

“Does she know? About your job?” Zayn asks before he can help himself.

Liam throws his head back when he laughs. “Mate, I know I’m not a genius but I know what not to tell my own mother.”

Zayn thinks he laughs. Liam’s right, it’s not the kind of thing to go parading around. 

“Hey,” Liam’s closer suddenly, crammed right up next to Zayn on the sofa, his hand so soft on Zayn’s arm as he tries to get his attention, “are you alright?”

Zayn means to nod, say yeah, it’s all good, only when he inhales his breath gets all shuddery, his eyes prickling before he can stop it.

“I haven’t talked to my mum in almost two years,” he says, gasping on it, Liam’s eyes going wide as soon as Zayn starts crying. “The last thing I said was that if they didn’t want me to go to uni for art then I wasn’t going at all. I told her I hated her!”

“She knows you didn’t --”

“I did, though.” He had, had meant it with every fiber of his being. It’d been months of arguing leading up to it, for the whole of his gap year, basically, and in that moment he had meant every word he said. He’s regretted it ever since, the stunned, hurt looks on their faces the last thing he sees before he falls asleep at night. “I told my parents I hated them and then I slammed the door and now look at me. I’m a fucking hooker, Liam. I can never see them again.”

“Why not?”

“Look at me! I gave a bloke a blow job in his car last night so I could buy a pack of cigarettes! How could I ever look my dad in the eye again? _Fuck_.”

“It’s alright,” Liam says, hauling Zayn in, letting him sob into his shirt. He keeps one hand on the back of Zayn’s neck, the other smoothing over his back, slow, steady circles. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not,” Zayn says wetly, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “I miss them so much sometimes and I -- I threw it all away for what? Living in a van for a year? With fucking _Louis_?” He knows he sounds hysterical but he can’t help it. He was fine keeping it bottled up but now that it’s coming out everything hurts. Everything’s hurt for so long.

“What we do is _weird_ , Liam.” He takes a heaving breath, drowning out Liam’s quiet objection. “No, what _you_ do is weird, what I do is just fucked. I can’t…”

“What we do is our business, yeah?” Liam’s lip brush Zayn’s forehead as he talks. “You make rent, you pay your bills, that’s all anyone wants to know. My family thinks I work in PR, that I’ve got so many suits and keep odd hours because we’ve got clients with strange demands. That’s all they know.”

“I’ve made such a mess, though.” Zayn doesn’t know how he’d begin to lie to his parents like that. Doesn’t know how he could even go crawling back at this point. “It’s been years.”

“So,” Liam noses at his hairline, “when you’re ready, you say you’re sorry and you clean it up.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“No,” Liam admits, “but it’s a start, isn’t it?”

He makes it sound so possible Zayn doesn’t want to object. He wants to believe it could be, even though he knows it’s not. Not really.

Liam waits, his hand moving in that same pattern, as Zayn’s breathing slowly returns to normal and the tears stop. He feels hollowed out after, like he’s got nothing left inside him.

“Zayn,” Liam asks quietly, “what _did_ happen with Louis?”

Part of Zayn’s been expecting it, been waiting for it since that day Liam drove up and told Zayn to get in the car. It still feels like a kick in the gut, though, leaves Zayn stunned and fighting for breath.

Liam squeezes the back of his neck, whether it’s to be reassuring or prompting, Zayn can’t decide.

“I loved him,” he says, not sitting up. It’s easier this way, to tell the story to Liam’s misshapen collar. “Like, f’real. He kicked me right in the ribs and bought me KFC and I dunno, Liam, I really loved him.”

Liam knows most of that, though, or at least has put two and two together by now. “And then what?” 

“At first it was great, just the two of us, fucking about, hooking up, trying to make enough money for weed or burgers or whatever we wanted. It was _fun_ , and I know it shouldn’t have been, but it was. Felt like it was us against the world, or whatever.

“But then it was like,” Zayn’s throat starts to hurt again so he pauses, takes a moment. He’s never let himself think on this for too long. “I don’t know what I did but something changed. Louis got rougher and now I think it’s because he was angry with me but I still don’t know why?

“I _liked_ it though. Liked when he’d hold me down or tell me what to do. Liked when I came back from hanging out with you and Louis’d want to get off but only if I didn’t make any noise.” 

Liam makes a small sound that makes all Zayn’s muscles ache. Everything’s just a right mess. Has been for months now.

“But that’s not the worst of it,” Zayn says, despite the headache gathering at his temples. He needs to get it all out so maybe Liam can figure out where Zayn went wrong and he can finally know. “I told Lou I needed money, quick, because I’m a fucking idiot and I wanted a bloody tattoo.” He laughs at himself, how stupid he’d been. All that and in the end he still hasn’t gotten the tat.

“So he says I can make more if I go all in, start letting blokes fuck me.” Liam doesn’t react. His hand doesn’t falter, still moving in those soothing circles. “But I was -- fuck, I didn’t want to go in cold, right? So me and Louis hid in the library one night, stayed after they closed it down and everything, and god, Li, it was like it had been in the beginning, before things went off, and it was so good and in the morning,” Zayn doesn’t know when he’s started crying again, his lip trembling as he tries to spit it out, Liam making soft, soothing noises into his hair, “he was _gone_. Just. Gone.”

It’s fucked, how much it hurts even now. Maybe more, Zayn thinks. At least in the beginning he’d hoped Louis might come back.

“I waited as long as I could before I left, and then he wasn’t home, either. He didn’t come back til late and he was high as fuck, acting like nothing had happened. And everything was… it was so horrible after that. I was so angry and Louis was so mean. Treated me like I was just some bloke who wanted to get off. And it just… It never got better. I kept waiting for it to, but it never did.”

Liam doesn’t say anything after, waits like he’s making sure Zayn’s done with his story. Zayn feels wrung out, like he could sleep for a decade if someone would let him. 

“Louis,” Liam says, his voice sounding foreign after Zayn’s spent so much time talking, “he deals with things in his own way, Zayn, and they’re not always right. I had to make my peace with him a long time ago.” 

Zayn wants to object, to defend Louis, but Liam keeps going.

“Anyone could see he loved you, too. You were bloody inseparable. Always felt a bit like I was intruding whenever we’d hang out.” Liam chuckles, the sound vibrating through Zayn. “But…”

Liam pulls away as he trails off, the loss making Zayn cold and acutely aware of the snot and tear tracks on his face, how his whole head feels swollen. He wipes his face on his sleeve, his breath catching when he inhales. Fuck. He buries his face in his hand.

“Zayn,” Liam wraps his hand around Zayn’s wrist and tugs, making him look at Liam, “none of what Louis did was _your_ fault.”

“But --”

Liam shakes his head, his other hand still at the nape of Zayn’s neck, thumb rubbing over the knob of Zayn’s spine. “Louis is the one who left, yeah? You didn’t make him do that, it was his choice. It was a shit thing for him to do, but sometimes… sometimes I think, for him, leaving seems like the safest path.”

“Why?” It’s a stupid question. Zayn doesn’t even know how it spills out of his mouth, a broken, jagged question.

“I don’t know,” Liam says, sad but honest. “We all deal with things differently.”

“That’s so fucked-up.” Zayn shuts his eyes. Today has been so long. These past few years have been so long. He loved Louis and Louis left and now he’s here, a soggy pile on Liam’s sofa. 

“Yeah, but it’s not because of you. Nothing you did made Louis the way he is.” He says it so easily, with such conviction. Zayn thinks he could believe it if he tried. He really wants to.

“Listen.” Liam tips Zayn’s chin up, making him look at him again. “Clearly Louis loved you back, in his own way, but that doesn’t mean… That doesn’t mean it was the right way for you, yeah?”

Zayn makes himself remember everything, all the good parts that he’s packed away deep inside himself, the parts he told Harry he couldn’t remember. Louis’s laugh and the feel of his arm slung around Zayn’s neck. How he’d kiss Zayn’s cheek with no warning while they were walking down the street, just because. The way Louis had looked in the library that night, watching Zayn like there wasn’t anyone else in the world, his eyes bright in the moonlight.

And everything else, too. Louis’s clipped tone and the sharp bite of his nails on Zayn’s skin. How he’d started holding Zayn’s hair too tight, how he’d seem upset anytime Zayn came back from spending time with anyone who wasn’t him. The way he’d liked to make Zayn squirm, like there was something delightful in his discomfort. Louis avoiding him. Louis not looking at him. Louis pulling away every time Zayn tried to kiss him.

He’s not sure if it hurts more or less, thinking of everything in this new context. Knowing Louis had loved him. Knowing Louis left. Both, he thinks. Like a papercut, sharp and blinding and then, suddenly, not at all.

“You alright?” Liam asks softly, like he’s worried Zayn might startle. He takes another shuddering breath; all he can do is nod. Liam’s hand is warm on his neck. He hasn’t moved it once. “C’mere.”

Zayn all but crumples when Liam pulls him in, wrapping both arms around Zayn’s shoulders. The telly’s still on, Zayn notices absurdly, tucking his face into Liam’s neck. He closes his eyes and counts the steady thump of Liam’s heart until he falls asleep.

It doesn’t take long at all.

**

He wakes up with a headache and a crick in his neck from sleeping at such an awkward angle, curled around Liam like he’s a liferaft in the middle of the sea.

It’s a trial, untangling his limbs without waking Liam up, but he manages. He tiptoes to the loo so he can wash his face, drink water directly from the tap. It’s strange, he thinks, staring at his reflection, how he can feel so different and still look exactly the same. 

Back in the lounge he shakes Liam’s shoulder gently, watching his eyelids flutter. It’s the first time he’s ever woken Liam up; usually it’s the other way around.

“Hey,” he smiles when Liam blinks up at him, “come to bed, yeah?”

Liam looks around, confused, like he’s not sure where he is or why. He lets Zayn pull him up, shuffling along to the bedroom.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks, voice thick with sleep, blinking at Zayn from across the pillows.

“Better,” Zayn says, meaning it. Liam finds his hand under the blankets and squeezes. 

It’s early, but Zayn lays awake for a bit, watching the way Liam seems to be smiling at him, even in his sleep.

**

“I was thinking,” Liam rolls a ball across the floor to Zayn, who sends it back before Loki can catch it, “I know it’s a bit early for dinner but I could make some food now -- I’ve got plenty of chicken and veg, if you’re hungry.”

“I’m in.” They’d slept away so much of the day, Liam making toast and tea when they’d finally got up. It’s still early, probably closer to lunch than anything, but Zayn’s starved. 

Liam tosses him the ball before he heads into the kitchen. Zayn makes a game of bouncing it off the wall, Loki pouncing and bringing it back to him.

A pan clatters to the floor. “I’m alright!” Liam yells, making Zayn laugh.

“Do you want any help?” he asks, making his way to the kitchen, watching Liam try to fit the pan back into the cupboard. 

“Um,” Liam gives up and shoves it in haphazardly, “yeah, if you don’t mind? Think there’s some carrots in there, if you want to roast them? If you don’t want that, just pick anything, I don’t care.” 

Zayn’s not the best cook; he sticks to what he knows and lets Harry or Niall handle the rest. He has to ask Liam more questions than someone probably should about roasting carrots, but Liam doesn’t seem to mind, keeps glancing over to make sure Zayn’s got it under control while he tends to the chicken. 

They turn out alright. Zayn supposes it’s hard to ruin carrots. 

“You’d be surprised,” Liam laughs, before launching into a story about the first time he’d made them, forgetting to set the timer on the oven. “Ended up just throwing the whole pan out. It was my only pan, too! Had to cook food straight on the rack until I could afford a new one.”

“You know what I realized?” he says later, clearing the table while Zayn starts the washing up.

“What?” It’s the first time all day Zayn’s felt wary of anything, just a tiny prickle at the bottom of his stomach.

“We never finished our card game. You owe me three rounds.” 

Zayn laughs, schooling his face back to normal before looking over at Liam. “It’ll be over in one, mate.”

Liam shakes his head, swatting Zayn’s arse with his towel. “Tonight is my night, Malik. I’m feeling lucky!”

**

“One more go,” Liam says, shuffling the deck. 

“You’re down like, twenty-six to eighteen,” Zayn says around the neck of his beer bottle. “I don’t know what one more round is going to do. Except make your loss all the more painful.”

“There’s no need to be _hurtful_. Who knew you were such a sore winner.”

Zayn kicks him in the ankle. Liam deals the cards.

**

“Here.” Liam pulls out a pair of trackies and his Batman tee. “Should’ve offered you some last night, but…”

“But I got snot all over your shirt and then passed out on top of you instead?” Zayn bites the inside of his cheek after he’s said it. It feels weird, making a joke, but what else is he going to do. He’s cried enough.

Liam just laughs. “When you put it that way.”

He wants to say thanks but it gets caught in his throat; he ends up stood there like a wanker, borrowed pajamas balled up in his hand. 

“I’m going to take Loki out one last time, okay?” Liam sets his hand on Zayn’s shoulder, squeezing. Zayn doesn’t think too hard about it, just wraps Liam up in a hug before he can move away. “Oh,” Liam’s hand cups the back of his head and then he laughs, “it’s only a quick wee, we’ll be right back.”

“Fuck you,” Zayn says, absolutely no heat in it. He shoves Liam away, waiting until the front door closes to change, folding his dirty clothes and setting them aside. 

_Staying @ Liams again xx_ he sends to Harry, and settles on the sofa, waiting for Liam to get back.

**

It’s a funny thing, how each morning Zayn wakes up feeling a bit better than he had the day before. He’s not sure how much of it is because of everything and how much of it is simply Liam. It seems a fair split, especially since the first bit all stems from Liam anyway.

“You alright in here?” Liam ducks his head in, laughing when he catches Zayn leaned out the window, smoking. “Don’t drop that into the flower box below. Mrs. Clemence has already been up here to shout at me enough as it is.”

“I didn’t --” 

“No, I know, I used to all the time. She is not my biggest fan.” Liam budges up next to him, Zayn swinging one leg over so he’s half in, half out the window and Liam’s got enough room.

“You want me to set her straight?” Zayn offers.

“She’s like eighty-six.”

Zayn shrugs, trying to keep a straight face as he exhales. “I’m not opposed to roughing old ladies up. Least not if I’m defending your honor.”

Liam’s laughing when Zayn realizes he means it. Not the old ladies part, but the Liam part. He’d go to battle for Liam any day of the week, no questions asked. 

“Can I?” Liam motions for Zayn’s cig; he hands it over, watching Liam take a drag, eyes still crinkled up like he’s laughing on the inside. 

Zayn takes a deep breath of his own, tilting his face into the sun. Liam sets his free hand on Zayn’s thigh, like the simplest of touches is enough to keep Zayn from falling.

**

“Tonight?” Zayn hears Liam ask. He thinks he’s talking to him, stops towel-drying his hair and cracks the door open to respond only to see Liam walk into the kitchen, clearly on his phone. “No, sorry, I’m tied up tonight. Oh, yeah, I’m still good for the wedding on the fifteenth, though. Cocktail attire, innit? Right. Right. Talk to you soon.”

Zayn’s frozen. Liam’s turning down jobs to spend time with him; he’s selfishly glad about it. 

“Zayn?” Liam knocks on the door before poking his head in, all smiles. “Oh, right, you can borrow anything you’d like, it’s all clean, I promise.”

“Cheers.” Zayn had been planning on throwing his own clothes back on, figured they’ve had enough time to air out, but if Liam’s offering.

Liam shrugs, no big deal. “I think tonight we should go to the store, pick out something real weird for dinner. Let’s make frogs legs!”

“What?” Zayn laughs, rifling through Liam’s wardrobe for a t-shirt. “How would we even know how?”

“I’ll look it up.” He snaps his fingers, chop chop.

**

“Who would’ve guessed they didn’t sell frogs legs at Asda,” Zayn says, swinging the basket in his hands.

“Well this is shit,” Liam says, pouting. Zayn resists the urge to pinch his lower lip, but only barely. 

They wander the aisles for a bit, until Zayn says, “We could make a loaf? Didn’t you say --” he stops when Liam spins around, jaw dropped, eyes wide.

“ _Zayn_.” 

“What?”

“That is _brilliant_! What kind do you want, did your mum make any when you were little? What if we have our own bake-off? We should, what do we need? Eggs, right? Which way are the eggs?”

It’s a bit of a whirlwind, Zayn ends up chasing Liam up and down aisles as he remembers the ingredients they need, chucking them into the basket. They spend far too long in the spice aisle, Liam trying to decide what he needs, asking Zayn’s opinion so much that he eventually says, “I don’t think the contestants should discuss this beforehand” and reaches for the cardamom pods.

“Wait,” Liam jogs away as they’re loading their items onto the conveyor belt, “almost forgot.”

Zayn makes a face when he comes back. “Is a toothbrush a vital part of your baking process, Liam?” 

“It’s for you, you donut.” Liam makes the same face back. “It’s about time you stopped using your finger. Otherwise I’ll have to let Loki have the pillow and _you_ can start sleeping at the foot.”

“Hey!” Zayn shoves him, Liam laughing and pushing back until the cashier clears her throat and repeats their total.

**

Zayn’s phone vibrates while he’s cracking eggs into a bowl. Liam’d claimed the whole table, leaving Zayn with the cramped counterspace. 

“Two hundred grams of sugar,” Liam says to himself.

“Three hundred,” Zayn says louder, hoping it’ll mess him up.

“Two hundred --”

“Three hundred.”

“ _ZAYN_.” He’s laughing, though, a spot of flour on his cheek. Zayn goes to brush it off, forgetting he’s got flour all over his own hands. He only makes it worse. 

“Sorry,” he says, wrinkling his nose. Liam shrugs and dips his head, wiping his cheek on Zayn’s shoulder. “Oi!”

“It’s my top, anyway!”

Zayn’s phone vibrates again, distracting him from the argument. He wipes his hands on Liam’s back -- “I think there should be a rule about the contestants keeping their hands to themselves!” -- and pulls his phone out. 

_Miss you !!!!! x_ Harry’s sent.  
_ARE YOU DEAD ?_  
_Did Liam kidnap you ?? Text back BANANAS if he did_

Zayn rolls his eyes, laughing. He’d told Haz he was staying; it’d been yesterday, sure, but it’s not like Zayn’s missing in action.

 _bananas_ he sends back. It’s barely a second before Harry’s response comes through.

_ZAYN !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_HAha I’m fine haz just hanging w/Liam Xx_

“Did you hide the vanilla?” Liam asks, poking through Zayn’s stockpile like a nosy cheat.

“Get out of here,” he elbows Liam away, laughing when Liam pinches his waist, tickling, “the vanilla is in the neutral pile! God.”

It’s so bloody stupid. Zayn’s shit at baking, is piggybacking off a recipe Liam found online when they both realized they hadn’t a fucking clue how to bake cakes. He can’t believe Liam turned down good money to do this. His kitchen’s a fucking mess because of them and the cakes are probably going to turn out terrible. 

“Oh no,” he hears, turning just in time to see Liam’s unscrewed the lid on his poppy seeds instead of leaving the plastic thing that controls the flow of them on. His face is a sight, just completely stunned. “Well,” he starts stirring, grinning over at Zayn, “hope you like poppy seeds!”

Zayn laughs so hard he cries. 

**

They have the cakes for dinner, and then again for breakfast, pans resting on the sofa between them. 

“I think letting them rest really helped,” Liam says, talking around a mouthful. 

“Do you?” Zayn digs his fork into Liam’s spotted monstrosity. They’re not good but they’re better than he expected. 

Liam takes another bite, thinking about it. “I mean, maybe. It’s no worse than what my mum used to make. Hers were always a bit dense, too, so I guess it’s what I’m used to. She wasn’t the best in the kitchen.”

“Mine was.” He thinks of all her hand-labeled spices, kept neater than any supermarket. “She’s a cook, though. Like, a proper one.”

“No way.”

Zayn nods and takes another bite of his cake. It tastes nothing like hers, but he tried.

**

“I should probably get home soon.” Zayn rolls onto his back, feeling his spine stretch. He’s been here for days; it’s time to get back in the swing of things.

“You don’t have to,” Liam says. “You can stay as long as you like.”

“I know.” He’s got to work, though, hasn’t been in long enough that if he doesn’t get a move on he’ll be fucked. It’s smarter to do it now than panic later. If nothing else, he’s learned that.

He pushes up until he can see where Liam’s laid out on the sofa. Zayn can’t believe he doesn’t want to leave. All they’ve been doing for the past hour is lying here in silence. He hadn’t even been asleep. 

“Let me drive you, at least. Don’t start, it’s fine. That way I can at least pop in, say hello to everyone. Harry’s been texting me nonstop. Did you tell him I kidnapped you?”

Zayn flops onto the floor, groaning.

“Zayn!” Liam peers over the edge of the sofa. “You shouldn’t even joke about that!”

**

The flat’s dark and empty when he gets back, which is oddly disappointing. Not that Zayn wanted like, a reception, just. Haz literally texted to ask if he still had all his limbs this morning. Zayn’s phone had died right after so he hadn’t been able to text back, and he hadn’t _told_ them he was coming back but that’s not the point.

“Zayn,” Liam reads off a note on the fridge, “if you can read this, welcome home.” He flips the note over and frowns. “That’s all it says. There’s four exclamation marks though, so. I guess I read it wrong, hang on,” he clears his throat, smiles wide as he reads, “Zayn! If you can read this, _welcome home_!!!!” He adds jazz hands at the end, mimes explosions of confetti and the sounds that go with it.

“Ace,” Zayn laughs, his face feeling like it could split in two from smiling so hard. “I could really hear each individual exclamation mark.”

Liam gives a tiny bow and then sticks the note back onto the fridge. He straightens the magnets after, pushing the corners so they’re in a neat row, laughing at himself when he catches Zayn watching him. 

“Sorry.” He bites his lip, cheeks going pink, and the urge to kiss him rushes up in Zayn fast. He doesn’t know how he’s kept it at bay for so long. He doesn’t know why he’s avoiding it anymore. 

“Liam,” he says quietly, feeling like he maybe deserves a bit of a warning before Zayn touches his jaw, guiding him into a kiss. Liam makes a startled sound against his mouth before kissing back. 

Zayn doesn’t realize they’re moving until Liam’s back hits the fridge and he grunts, his lips parting enough for Zayn to slip his tongue inside, slow and teasing. He wonders if Liam can feel the way his heart’s beating like a drum, so loud it’s nearly drowning out the soft sounds Liam makes when Zayn bites his lip. 

“Jesus, Li,” Zayn breathes out, pulling back just enough that they reorient, Liam’s hand coming up to cup his cheek so he can take control. It’s dizzying, the broad swipe of Liam’s thumb across his cheekbone, the scrape of Liam’s stubble against his own. Liam’s other hand slips under the hem of his t-shirt, his palm spanning the small of Zayn’s back, and just the skin-to-skin contact is enough to make Zayn groan.

“God,” Liam keeps his hand there as he pulls back, his forehead tipped against Zayn’s. He wonders if he’s imagining the brush of Liam’s eyelashes on his skin or if it’s real. After a moment, Liam puts a little more distance between them, settles his hands on Zayn’s hips. He can still feel his palmprint like a brand.

“Zayn, we,” he says, still a bit breathless. His lips are redder than Zayn’s ever seen them. “I mean, are you -- I’m sorry, I should’ve,” Liam looks up at the ceiling; Zayn pats his chest reassuringly, smiling when Liam looks at him again, “do you need time? To like, process everything? Or something?”

He looks so worried Zayn’s heart clenches. He doesn’t let himself laugh. He doesn’t want Liam to think he’s laughing at him. 

“Liam,” he says, tapping his fingers against Liam’s sternum, “I’ve had plenty of time to wrap my head around it. You don’t know the half of it. I promise.”

He still looks skeptical, brows knitted together. Zayn leans up to kiss the crinkled-up spot where they meet.

“Do _you_ need time?” he asks, “Because if you do, I understand to--”

“No,” Liam cuts him off, his mouth on Zayn’s before he’s finished his thought, kissing Zayn between words, “same page. You and me.”

“Sick,” Zayn whispers, letting Liam spin them, Harry and Niall’s note getting crumpled under his shoulders as Liam pushes him up against the fridge.

&&&

When Niall lets himself into the flat it’s late, had taken fucking forever to close up the pub. One of the massive eejit regulars just wouldn’t leave, Bressie ended up manhandling him into a taxi that the pub paid for. Niall’s shoulders ache a bit with it, the tension of everything. He chalks it up to how it’d been a few days since he’d worked there, his schedule off since he and Harry had holed up in the flat while Zayn had disappeared, chatting shit and making up games and cooking. Harry had even chucked in extra to go to the store so they could make as much as possible from Jamie Oliver’s cookbook that Niall’d had for ages but never really tried out much. 

They haven’t snogged still, not since the night he’d gone out with Liam. Sometimes Niall thinks they might, but it keeps getting tipped over, like. Niall’s not even sure what he wants, some of the times, other than spending as much time with Harry as possible, feeling overwhelmed by everything he does.

“Zaaaaayn,” Niall can hear Harry whining in the bedroom in the voice he gets when he’s not getting his way, “you can’t tell me that and expect me _not_ to ask questions.”

“Well too bad Haz,” Niall’s pretty sure it’s not a row, because Zayn sounds like he’s laughing, “it’s not on. Not now. It’s early days yet, don’t wanna fuck it up.”

“ _Zayn_.” Harry’s in a pout, Niall can hear it clear as day. He pauses, debating whether or not he should close the door quietly or slam it shut.

“Just do me a massive favor,” Zayn’s pleading now, “and don’t say anything to him, alright? He’s got gigs most of this week so _I’m_ not even seeing him for a few days.”

“Fine,” Harry says, and Niall makes a decision, slamming the door. There’s a moment of silence, and then Harry bounds out the bedroom, Zayn coming up behind and struggling into his jacket. They’ve both got smiles on, at least.

“Niall!” Harry catches him in a tight hug, kissing his cheek. “How was the pub?”

“Had a bit of an adventure at the end, but,” Niall shrugs, trying to read Zayn’s expression, “‘s not too bad. They missed me after our big cook in.”

“Had that korma you made for dinner,” Zayn smiles, “was ace, Niall. Reminded me a lot of my mum’s.”

“Yeah?” Niall hadn’t known that Zayn had a mum like that, let alone one who could cook. “Cheers, it was all down to Mr. Oliver.”

“I’ll thank him, then,” Zayn grins, “anyway, I’m going out, yeah? I’m so far behind it’s embarrassing.”

“I could float you, Zayn, if you --” Harry starts, looping his arm round Niall’s waist and turning them so they’re facing Zayn.

Zayn frowns, then laughs, “nice try, Hazza. I’ll be quick, just wanna get in a few.”

“But,” Harry starts, squeezing at Niall’s side when Zayn drops a kiss on both of their foreheads before he breezes out the door, so silent it was like he didn’t leave at all.

“Niall,” Harry’s on him as soon as Niall tries to walk toward the kitchen, dying for a snack. “Nialllll.”

“Harry, what?” Niall tries to shake him off his back as he pulls out the last of the korma, grabbing a fork and deciding to eat it cold. Tastes just as good.

“There’s something,” Harry pauses, biting at his lip, “I want to tell you something.”

“Did it have to do with…” Niall forks up another mouthful, gesturing toward the door, “the conversation I walked in on?”

“Yes,” Harry nods, pressing his palms together like he’s praying, “Zayn told me that --”

“That….” Niall laughs at how Harry looks so torn. “Listen, Hazza, you don’t have to tell me, I honestly don’t need to know.”

“I just don’t want Zayn to think,” Harry trails off, a slow grin dawning on his face, “actually, I think it’s Zayn’s fault, really, if he thinks I wouldn’t tell you. And you won’t tell….”

“Won’t tell who?” Niall swallows before taking another bite, “the Queen? The Pope? That bloke in the park we always avoid?”

“No,” Harry’s whispering now, his eyes wide. “Liam, Niall. _Liam_.”

“Alright,” Niall finishes off the rest, taking a long drink of water before sitting at the table so he’s facing Harry, “out with it, and give it to me straight, is Zayn pregnant?”

Harry starts laughing, stopping himself after a few seconds and frowning, waving his hands about.

“Not a time for joking,” Harry places his palms flat on the table and looks directly into Niall’s eyes, “Zayn and Liam _kissed_.”

“Oh.” Niall gets it now, why Harry looks like someone just handed him a million quid. It’s something he’s been on about for ages, whispered it to Niall late at night, how he wishes they’d get their act together. Niall can’t say he doesn’t agree, in the few months he’s known them. It makes sense, like. Just seems to fit, to Niall. Even without Harry’s whispered explanations and hints at whatever backstory is keeping them apart. 

Niall had assumed it was down to how Zayn is a skittish bloke, figured it just takes him longer to warm up to things. Even with Liam, who’s so warm as a person it’s like his personality is a bonfire. 

“Oh?” Harry leans back, sputtering, “I tell you _that_ and I get an _oh_?”

“I guess I’m just so excited that I’m stunned stupid, Harry,” Niall decides, not the odd feeling welling up in his stomach that Harry’s so into his two best mates snogging when Niall’s right there. 

“Much better,” Harry grins, “can you believe it? I feel like I’ve been waiting for just, for ages and ages.”

“Must be hard, that,” Niall says, forcing his mouth up into a grin that’ll match Harry’s.

**

It’s a few days later when Niall lets himself into the flat after an afternoon of busking, pleased enough with his total that he doesn’t think he has to beg Bressie for an extra shift this week, even though the pub has really been busier lately. Things with Harry have even been better, Niall realizing that if Zayn and Liam can wait for however bloody long he can be patient. It’s not even that he wants Harry to fuck him senseless, just for things to be a little less...unsure. 

He knows Harry’s up for it, isn’t an idiot when Harry fixes him with that look. And Niall still feels tentative with it, wants to make everything he does with Harry slow and sure and not frenetic or distracted. He thinks back to the conversation he had with Zayn about it all a lot, how much better he’d felt about Harry after. 

There’s smoke coming out under the door of the loo when Niall walks to the bedroom, the sweet smell of weed hitting Niall’s nose and stopping him in his tracks. He knows Zayn smokes up some nights, wasn’t sure that he’d be home tonight. Harry’s out, at some do for his American bloke again. 

“Zayn?” Niall knocks softly, opening the door and poking his head in, his eyes clouded over with the haze of the smoke. 

“Can come in,” Zayn’s sprawled out on the floor, arm propped up on the tub, “just shut the door behind you, yeah?”

“Sure,” Niall steps in, settling carefully so he fits in the space between Zayn’s legs. 

“Wanna?” Zayn holds out the pipe and lighter, Niall nodding and taking it while Zayn exhales.

“Haven’t in ages,” Niall takes a deep hit, holding the smoke in his lungs until they burn and he coughs, hard, hopes he doesn’t trick up his asthma too bad. He’s usually good, especially once he mellows out after a couple hits.

“Me neither, actually,” Zayn speaks slow normally, but this is like comically slow, like Harry when he’s trying to tell a shit joke. Zayn laughs, it rolling through the small room like Niall’s third hit. “I’m trying to psych myself up to go out tonight.”

“Been out every night this week,” Niall points out, feels his eyes close on their own as he hands the pipe back to Zayn. 

“I’m trying to get set,” Zayn manages a decent smoke ring, “so I don’t have to go out for a few.”

“Huh,” Niall tips his head back, his mouth gone dry but in a pleasant way. He licks his lips. “Saving up. That’s smart. Good man.”

“Wanna like,” Zayn ducks his head down, and Niall has to strain to hear him, “haven’t seen Liam in a few days, don’t wanna be worrying about rent.”

“Oh.” Niall takes another hit. “Liam’s had a lot of gigs.”

“He’s been booked up.” Zayn looks up then, a half smile on his face, “I’m sure Harry’s told you all about it.”

Niall snorts, “didn’t wanna rat him out. But.”

“I know Harry too well,” Zayn pauses, leaning his head on his hand, “I knew he would, but. I can’t expect him not to. It’s good, like? That he has you for that. I dunno if I told you that. It’s sick, really.”

Zayn’s so open like this, babbling on like Liam or Harry are around, maybe even more so. Niall just listens, absorbs what he’s saying.

“I told him that it was like you were made just for him? Should have seen the look on his face. But,” Zayn grins, “it’s true. It’s why he’s the way that he is with you.”

“What, confusing?” Niall laughs. It feels like all he can say.

“No,” Zayn shakes his head slow, “overwhelming.”

“That’s…” Niall feels floored, like he’s moving about underwater. “That is accurate.”

“Just don’t want you thinking otherwise.” Zayn shrugs. “I’ve had some shit, I don’t want Harry to deal with it, either.”

“It did really help,” Niall straightens out his leg so it runs along the length of Zayn’s, “what you said, before. With him.”

“Oh,” Zayn wrinkles up his nose, eyes gone confused for a moment, “‘bout what we do?”

“No, when we were talking about Harry?” Niall’s eyes are burning. “I mean, I s’pose it was about that too, but.”

“But,” Zayn blinks a few times, looking lost. “I thought.”

“Either way,” Niall taps at Zayn’s knee, “it helped. I just gotta be patient, is all. It is what it is.”

“Guess it doesn’t matter,” Zayn’s words are slurring together, “what it was about, really. It’s what happened after.”

“Sure Zayn,” Niall holds up the pipe, nearly gone, “mind if I finish this up?”

“Go for it,” Zayn tips his head back. “I’m gonna just take a minute, and,” he swallows, “go out.”

**

“Niall,” Harry’s shaking at his shoulder, hair dripping in Niall’s face. “You okay?”

“Wha--” Niall’s mouth is dry as fuck, had put on some Eagles and stared at the ceiling, riding out his high. His -- oh, yeah, he’s still pretty bloody high. 

“Here,” Harry reaches over him for the glass of water Niall’d left on the table, handing it to him.

“Cheers,” Niall drains it, licking his lips and feeling better already. “How was it?”

“It was real posh,” Harry wrinkles his nose, “they were smoking cigars though, I felt gross. Jeff had a meeting early so he told me to leave before the end.”

“Smell good now, though.” Harry’s hair is still dripping, the fruity scent of his shampoo wafting over him.

“Wish I could say the same for you,” Harry laughs, draping himself over Niall and burying his face in Niall’s neck, taking a deep breath, “someone smoked up with Zayn.”

“Came home, he was in the loo,” Niall laughs when Harry pulls back, making a face, “did it smell like weed in there? We opened a window.”

“Oh,” Harry rolls his eyes, “I’ll let it pass, I guess I would’ve noticed.”

“You definitely would’ve.” Niall turns so he’s colliding with Harry, the last dregs of his high making everything move slow. “Hey.”

Harry’s eyes are wide, his palm this searing heat on Niall’s hip. 

“Hey.”

“Zayn seems…” Niall looks down at the tips of ink peeking out of Harry’s top, “I dunno, he’s the same but like. I think he’s happier. With whatever’s going on, with Liam.”

“No fucking way,” Harry laughs, “you don’t say.”

“Guess I didn’t know him enough, before.” Niall taps at one of the wing tips with his finger, Harry’s hand flexing. 

“Oh, he was a mess,” Harry frowns. “But we don’t have to talk about him, right now.”

“No?” Niall covers his surprise with a laugh. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Um,” Harry pauses for so long that something in it sparks up funny in Niall’s brain and he starts laughing and keeps laughing, it only getting funnier when Harry just looks confused. 

“Jesus,” Harry finally starts laughing too, fingers coming up to smooth over the wet of Niall’s tears under his one eye, “how high _are_ you?”

“Dunno,” Niall shakes his head, “you tell me.”

“Well,” Harry starts, but the rest of whatever he was going to say is lost when Niall closes the last of the distance between them, catching at Harry’s lips with his own. It’s not quite a snog, not yet, Niall’s aim fuzzy like his brain, like how much he wants Harry. 

He’s used to being up for it when he’s high, but not like this, already sporting a semi as he pushes so he gets Harry on his back, kissing away the shocked laugh Harry huffs out. It’s an awkward angle, Niall not coordinated enough to grind down proper as they snog, Harry finally reaching up and anchoring Niall’s head between his palms. He holds him there, kissing him slower and slower until they’re just breathing with their foreheads pressed together.

“Pretty high, was gonna say,” Harry laughs, sweeping his thumbs across Niall’s cheeks before ducking his head in and kissing him again. 

“Just wanted to let you know,” Niall says, pulling back to take a shaky breath, “that I wanted to do that.”

“Niall,” Harry takes a deep breath, looking very unlike himself for a moment, “I don’t want you to think I don’t? Because I do. I just don’t wanna be rubbish at this. I dunno if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, Haz,” Niall threads his fingers through Harry’s curls at the back of his head, cupping it in his palm and drawing him forward so their foreheads are touching again. “It makes a lot of sense.”

“Brilliant, get in,” Harry whispers, Niall can hear in his voice how he’s grinning, “but not, like, not like that. Just now.”

Niall pulls him closer, the two of them starting to laugh again already.

&&&

Liam’s proper nervous. He’s taken Loki out three times since he got in from the shops, trying to kill time before Zayn gets to his flat. He feels like maybe a few press-ups would probably do wonders for his excess energy, but he doesn’t want to be a sweaty mess when Zayn arrives.

Not that he’s expecting Zayn to. Well. Do anything he doesn’t want to do. It’s been shit, snogged Zayn for a few minutes pressed up against the fridge at his and Harry’s flat before they heard Niall and Harry getting in, and then days of gigs he couldn’t get out of. It’s been worse than waiting for Christmas. 

Not that they haven’t been speaking. Liam can’t remember the last time Zayn’s been so easy to answer his phone. Had even called Liam one day, to ask him if he’d read the new X-Men. Liam hadn’t yet, was still on his table, but he’d asked Zayn to tell him about it anyway, just to see how long Zayn would talk for before he got antsy and rung off. Had been a full half hour. 

_See u soon!_ Zayn had sent earlier, Liam looking through his phone again, like he’s not sure the next text is even real, _Been missing u xx_

It’s mental. Liam had always...well, if he really thinks about it he’s not sure when it started, but it ended the second Zayn had cried in his arms, finally told him all the things Liam had suspected. That was it. Liam could barely dare to breathe when Zayn had stayed, kept staying. Kissed him because he wanted to, had asked Liam if he needed time. Said he didn’t. There was something about the way Zayn had said it, said _you don’t know the half of it_ , a smile on his face the whole time.

There’s a knock on the door and Loki loses his shit, scrambling for the door like he’s the one Zayn’s gonna snog next. Which, Liam thinks, might very well happen the way Zayn always is with Loki. 

“I’ll put you in my room,” Liam warns Loki, as he opens the door.

“I’m good for now, Liam,” Zayn’s grinning, his eyes bright, “but thanks.”

“Oh!” Liam already feels flustered, stepping to the side to let Zayn in before Loki bolts, “was talking to Loki.”

“Yeah,” Zayn’s already dropped down, rubbing at Loki’s belly, “I worked it out, Liam.”

“Was just telling him I’d put him in my room if he took all your attention,” Liam explains, feeling a prat, “was being a bit of a knob to him.”

“Hey,” Zayn stands, Loki whining already. Zayn steps forward, his eyes traveling all over Liam’s face before settling on his mouth. “Soz, I didn’t realize.”

“Realize what?” Liam asks, feeling struck dumb even before Zayn’s pushing forward and kissing him, soft. 

“That you’d been going mad just as much as I have.” When Zayn pulls back to speak, Liam doesn’t think it’s a trick of his mind that Zayn’s got a flush on his cheeks, just above the dark of his beard. Liam runs his finger along it, Zayn’s eyes fluttering closed.

“Yeah?” Any last bit of nervousness that Zayn might change his mind is gone suddenly, and all Liam wants to do is snog him until they’re both breathless with it. If only it wasn’t so bloody hard to kiss him when Liam’s grinning so hard, maneuvering them both so they’re propelled in the direction of the lounge.

**

They snog on the sofa for over an hour, Liam keeping track by the telly in the background. Liam can’t remember the last time he’s been fine with just snogging someone, the two of them tangled together fully.

“Liam,” Zayn gasps out when Liam rolls so he can rock his hips down into Zayn’s, finally. It’s just enough friction to make Liam’s cock fill up more, especially when Zayn slides his hands into Liam’s back pockets, squeezing at his arse. 

“I can’t get enough of this,” Liam pulls back just enough to give his lips a break, them feeling swollen and chapped from the constant drag of Zayn’s, from the rasp of his stubble. Liam runs his tongue along the shell of Zayn’s ear, flicking at his earring and biting down gently. 

“Fuck,” Zayn squeezes at Liam’s arse harder, making the loudest noise Liam’s heard him make yet. Liam had thought he was all soft sounds.

“Did you like that?” Liam whispers into Zayn’s ear, flicking his tongue out and doing it again, just letting his teeth graze there.

“Um,” Zayn breathes out, making that noise again. Inhales sharp, then exhales again, his grip going slack. Liam leans back, sitting up and seeing just how disheveled Zayn looks, a mark standing out on his neck that Liam put there, makes his cock twitch a little in his pants. 

“Hey,” Liam smooths out the furrow in Zayn’s forehead, shifting so he’s not got his leg pressed into where Zayn’s cock is tenting out his jeans. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Zayn laughs finally, looking more like himself. “Soz, I did like that. A lot.”

“Brilliant.” Liam rests his hand square on Zayn’s chest, feels how fast his heart is beating. “Wanna take a break? Make some food?”

“Sounds good,” Zayn presses his hand against Liam’s, “I’m pretty hungry.”

Liam gets up carefully, holding out his hand to help Zayn. When he turns to walk to the kitchen, he can feel Zayn hook a finger in one of his belt loops, this reassuring weight at his waist.

“Something quick maybe, yeah?” Liam opens the fridge, assessing. “Like fajitas?”

“Sounds sick,” Zayn boosts himself up on the counter, his heels knocking against the cupboards below. “Want me to help?”

“I’m good,” Liam sets the pan on the hob, getting out his cutting board. “Take a rest.”

Zayn smiles, leaning back whenever Liam has to reach over him, toying with his bottom lip the whole time. It’s nice, comforting. It’s not that different from how he and Zayn have been in the past few months, since Zayn had really started to open up slowly, but Liam still feels like everything has changed.

“Li?” Zayn asks, when Liam’s reaching up to get a couple of plates.

“Yeah?” Liam sets them down, Zayn reaching for his shoulders and pulling at him until he’s stood between Zayn’s thighs. 

“About before?” Zayn squeezes his legs around Liam’s hips. He laughs, looking down and then back up, meeting Liam’s eyes. 

Liam puts his palms flat on the counter, leaning in and brushing his lips against Zayn’s before tilting his head back so he can still meet Zayn’s eyes and stay in his space. 

“I didn’t say, um,” Zayn bites his lip, “I liked it.”

Liam laughs, kissing Zayn again. “You said. You did.”

“Dunno why I couldn’t say it like, right then?” Zayn takes a deep breath, resting his arms on Liam’s shoulders. “Didn’t want you to think I was being….”

“Hey,” Liam can see how Zayn’s struggling a bit, a little bit in his head like he gets. “We’ve got a ton of time to figure all that out, and I never thought anything.”

“Not one thought,” Zayn laughs, “not a one?”

“If anything, it was all about how fit you are, how you’re like...you got a fit everything Not just like, your face and body and all?” Liam tries to think of how to say it, knows it’s shit, but the way Zayn’s eyes crinkle up he thinks he gets it.

**

“Well,” Niall’s got a look on his face like he’s trying not to laugh, “looks like you don’t need my help with the washing up.”

“Erm,” Liam shoots a look over at Zayn, who shrugs, glancing down. They’d thought Harry and Niall were absorbed in picking a film, could hear them bickering over it when Liam took a chance and started snogging Zayn while he stacked up plates. It’s not his fault, really, not when Zayn still had a spot of spag bol at the corner of his mouth. He was just trying to help.

“Soz, Niall,” Zayn finally says, taking the bowl Niall’s holding. 

“Harry was talking about going to pick up another film because he’s seen all yours,” Niall grins, “but maybe we’ll just...Oi, Hazza!”

“Yeah?” Harry calls out, and when Zayn looks over he’s already draped himself over the sofa. 

“Let’s go,” Niall laughs, “I’ve got a few extra quid, we can go see a film.”

“What about lads night??” Harry whines, coming into the kitchen. “I was promised dinner _and_ a film, Niall, and we never see these two anymore.”

“ _Haz_ ,” Niall elbows him, and Liam knows that he should offer to have them stay, but the thought of being alone with Zayn is. Well. 

“What? I’m not allowed to voice my disappointment?” Harry looks between Niall and Liam then, his eyes going wide when he sees how Zayn is standing close to Liam. Close enough that Liam’s going a bit mad, if he’s being honest. “Oh.”

“We’ll still go see a film, and dinner was proper great,” Niall laughs, putting his arm around Harry’s neck and pulling him close. “Cheers for that, lads.”

“You could…” Liam starts, but then Zayn’s hand is at his back, pinching, “....take some money, film’s on me.”

Niall makes a face, opening his mouth like Liam knows he’s about to say no, when Harry grins. He’s got his limits, sure, but -- 

“Film on Liam!” Harry takes the money when Liam laughs and pulls a few notes out of his pocket. “Zayn, get that look off your face.”

“I don’t have a look on my face,” Zayn sounds put out, rolling his eyes at Liam when he sneaks a glance over. 

“Liam offered, and,” Harry takes a deep breath, taking his coat when Niall hands it to him, “we are just….we are going to go.”

“Alright then go,” Zayn laughs, turning back to the sink, “I’ll be back when I’m back.”

Liam bites at his lip when he walks Niall and Harry to the door and hugs them both good-bye, surprised as ever that Harry’s been so low key about it all. It’s been weeks now, and Liam keeps waiting for Harry to show up at his flat, grinning and asking for details or suggesting they all go out or offering those horrifying flavored condoms he’d told Liam about once. But he hasn’t. It’s odd. 

“Harry’s been weird,” he announces to Zayn when he gets back into the kitchen, Zayn picking at the leftover bowl of spag bol.

“Gonna have to be more specific, babe,” Zayn grins around a mouthful of pasta, “because Harry’s always weird.”

“Be nice,” Liam laughs, rolling his eyes when Zayn holds out a forkful of pasta. “Just, I’d have thought he’d be more...annoying, about us? You and me?”

“Oh.” Zayn drops the fork, twirling it about in the bowl like he’s trying to make a big ball of pasta. He doesn’t look up. “I’d told him to leave it, for now. Didn’t want him to rubbish things up.”

“Rubbish things up?” Liam doesn’t get it; he knows how Harry is, it’s not like he wasn’t expecting it the second he left their flat after he and Zayn’d snogged for the first time. “How would he do that?”

“Dunno,” Zayn shrugs, still looking down and moving the fork round, “I wanted to give this the best chance possible, and I know how he gets. Wanted to give myself a shot, more like.”

Oh. Liam stands there a moment, feeling a lot of things. Like Zayn doesn’t know that it’d take an impossible amount of shit to drive Liam away. 

“Hey,” Liam fits himself along the long line of Zayn’s back, tucking his chin over his shoulder and resting his hands on Zayn’s hips. “It’s not, you know, gonna turn rubbish. I won’t let it.”

“You are good when you set your mind to things,” Zayn chuckles, a low sound that rumbles through Liam’s chest. He turns his head, his lips grazing at Liam’s temple, and Liam steps even closer, wrapping his arms around Zayn fully. 

“Probably gonna annoy you,” Liam says softly, half as a joke and half as a warning, “but you’re not rid of me, not just yet. Even if you try.”

“It’s alright,” Liam can tell from how Zayn’s cheek moves that he’s smiling, “if you annoy me, I’ve got ways to cope.”

“Yeah?” Liam drags his lips across Zayn’s jaw, to feel him shiver. “Like what?”

“This,” Zayn says easily, and then everything goes arse over ankles when there’s suddenly a splat of spag bol on the top of his head, dripping down across his face while Zayn cackles, holding the bowl close. 

“You,” Liam grabs the large knot of pasta Zayn’d chucked at him, “are in for it.”

He whips it at Zayn’s face, Zayn ducking too late. It’s a direct hit, Zayn sputtering with pasta everywhere as they grapple for the upper hand, the bowl clattering to the floor long before they stop, breathing heavy and both a right mess.

“C’mon,” Liam picks at a bit of tomato stuck in Zayn’s hair, “let’s have a shower.”

Liam’s glad he’d put Loki up in his room earlier as they make their way carefully to the loo, Zayn making a face when Liam warns him to be careful when he starts to pull his t-shirt over his head.

“No, Liam, I’m out to get spag bol all over your flat,” Zayn stands there odd though, holding himself so stiff that Liam laughs when he turns back from getting the water started, hoping it’s not too hot.

“I wasn’t serious,” Liam gets his own kit off, pausing when he’s down to his pants and notices that Zayn’s watching him with interest, looking amazing even with red sauce smeared all down his face, his mouth hanging open like he’s hungry for it.

It’s mad, this. How whatever discomfort Zayn had been feeling at the outset of it melted away after that first day, how every time Liam’s not sure what they’re gonna do next. 

“C’mon then,” Liam urges, hooking his thumbs in his pants and working them down his legs before reaching for Zayn’s flies.

“Get in, I’m good,” Zayn chokes out when the back of Liam’s hand brushes against Zayn’s cock, Liam surprised he’s half hard already just from a quick snog in the kitchen and a pasta wrestle, just from watching Liam get undressed.

“Alright,” Liam pulls back the curtain, rinsing the worst of it out of his hair before he can feel the cool draft from Zayn getting in behind him, moving carefully. “Here, Zayn.”

Liam steps back so Zayn can get under, Liam reaching for the shelf where he keeps his shampoo and lathering them both up. After he rinses himself he scrubs at Zayn’s scalp, laughing at how Zayn’s eyes flutter closed and he gets a look on his face just like Loki when he’s in the middle of a good cuddle at night in front of the telly.

“What’s so funny?” Zayn asks, tipping his head back to rinse. Liam curves his hand over Zayn’s hairline, so the soap won’t get in his eyes. 

“Nothing,” Liam shakes his head, “you clean enough now?”

“For what?” Zayn smoothes his hair back, stepping carefully with their legs tangled up together under the direct hit of the spray.

“Dunno,” Liam closes in the last of the distance, speaking against Zayn’s mouth, “for me to get you dirty again.”

“Liam,” Zayn laughs, this shocked tone to it that drives Liam insane every time he says something like that, “that’s so lame.” But his eyes are dark as he says it, hands settling on Liam’s hips and opening his mouth before Liam can lick into it, kissing him sloppily and maneuvering them so Liam’s pressed against the cool tile.

Zayn rocks his hips up so his cock slides against Liam’s, making them both gasp and pull back for a second, breathing heavily. Liam reaches down with a shaky hand, giving Zayn a long stroke before settling his thumb at the head.

“D’you like it this way?” Liam’s learned that Zayn will say more, tell Liam more, about what he wants, when Liam asks. “Like this?” Liam strokes slowly, squeezing at the base of Zayn’s cock with his fist before coming back up, trying to find the right rhythm.

“Fuck,” Zayn widens his stance, feet squeaking against the floor of the tub when he tips his forehead against Liam’s shoulder, one hand at Liam’s hip and the other braced on the wall next to Liam’s head. “Could do...more at the head, yeah? Your hand is so….”

“Mhmm,” Liam hums, correcting his stroke to focus more on the cut head of Zayn’s cock, slippery with precome already. 

“Yeah,” Zayn exhales, his arm flexing when he moves his hand from the wall to cradle the back of Liam’s head, kissing him as Liam tosses him off. He bites at Liam’s lip when his hips snap forward, the glide of Liam’s hand eased by the growing wetness, the two of them migrated almost fully out of the spray at this point. “I can,” Zayn starts, the hand that’s been digging into the flesh of Liam’s hip flexing like it means to move.

“Can wait,” Liam chokes out, flicking his wrist in the other direction and shifting his hips against Zayn’s grip so the head of Zayn’s cock catches on his own on the upstroke, almost enough to drive him over the edge, feeling like he’s been hard forever. “You first.”

Zayn seems to catch onto what Liam’s doing, though, moving about and changing the angle of his cock in Liam’s fist until it makes the most sense to hook his thumb over, taking them both in hand. 

“Like it when you put your hand ‘round mine, Zayn,” Liam grits out, Zayn shuffling immediately and doing so, his thumb pushing against the edge of Liam’s foreskin. “Christ, I’m close.”

“Closer,” Zayn laughs, kissing Liam again, open mouthed and messy, before he comes between them, his cock pulsing against Liam’s.

When Liam comes his head jerks back, right into where Zayn’s got his hand still.

“Got ya,” Zayn says easily, his mouth moving along the column of Liam’s neck. 

**

“I’m so stupid,” Liam wrinkles his nose when Zayn comes back in, his hair a mess and Loki trotting happily along, still on his lead. 

“Why?” Zayn laughs when he sees the mess Liam’s standing in, dried spag bol everywhere.

“My whole flat smells of pasta,” Liam sighs. “We shouldn’t have gone to bed before cleaning up.”

“I dunno,” Zayn unhooks Loki, who immediately gets to licking at one of the bigger spots on the floor. “I think it was a good idea.”

“It wasn’t _bad_ , but,” Liam glances up at Zayn’s smiling face, eyes dark. He remembers that look, in the middle of the night, him melting under the wet heat of Zayn’s mouth, Zayn babbling a list of demands at Liam when he returned the favor, the weight of Zayn’s cock heavy on his tongue. 

“Alright,” Liam concedes, Zayn rubbing at his shoulders, “it was a good idea.”

**

“It’s good you’re busy this week,” Zayn says, from the other side of the curtain. He’d come in the bathroom after he took Loki out, Liam trying to get a shower in before he had to get ready, had stacked up gigs all week. 

Liam rubs soap out of his eye, pulling back the curtain slightly to see Zayn inspecting the line of his beard in the mirror. Liam had trimmed it the night before, thinks he did a real sick job of it. 

“Should I be worried?” Liam jokes, raising his eyebrows when Zayn gives him a look like he’s put out. He ducks back in, scrubbing at his chest. He’d told Zayn to cool it on the love bites since he was out and about all week, but there’s still a small bruise on his pec, a slight sting when Liam pokes at it. At least this is an afternoon gig, those don’t normally end in a second location. 

“No,” Zayn says, “you shouldn’t. Just getting sick of Harry whingeing on about how I’m never home.”

“You’re not _never_ home,” Liam argues, turning the heat up and leaning back against the spray. It’s been...well, it’s been ages, Liam not sure if there was even a time when Zayn wasn’t part of his life in this way. Liam’s gotten into a pattern, goes through cycles where he’s stacked up for a few days, hanging round Zayn for the rest. It works for them, he thinks. Gives Zayn the space it seems like he needs, sometimes. 

“He always gets like this when it’s been more than like, two days.” Liam can tell that Zayn’s smiling, “you got this line so sick, Liam. Like razor straight.”

“Cheers,” Liam grins to himself, reaching for the flannel, “I tried at least.”

“Tried, and succeeded. Anyway,” the sink goes on, Zayn talking next with his mouth round his toothbrush, “this’ll make him feel better.”

“That’s good,” Liam turns and lets the water rinse off his chest.

“And it’s only a few days,” Zayn sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of something.

“You know,” Liam takes a deep breath, something he’s been wanting to say forever finally tripping off the tip of his tongue, “‘could always move in here? I know the sofa at Harry’s is…”

“Liam,” Zayn’s pulling back the curtain suddenly, his face gone resolute like Liam knew it would, “there’s no way I could swing half rent here, I’m fine at Harry’s.”

“You wouldn’t have to…” Liam starts, trailing off when Zayn’s brow furrows up. There’s a spot of toothpaste at the side of his mouth. “Alright, forget I mentioned it.”

“It’s not you,” Zayn’s face softens, and Liam doesn’t care that he’s still holding the shower curtain to the side, a puddle gathering on the floor already, “I just gotta make my own way, yeah?”

“No, I know,” Liam honestly isn’t bothered; he knows how it is, how Zayn is. He doesn’t want Zayn to think it’s anything other than wanting to spend as much time with him as possible, wants him to stay as happy as he’s been.

“Harry’d lose it, anyway,” Zayn grins, fingers toying with the rip in the edge of the curtain, the one Liam’d accidentally put there the first time Zayn had slid a finger into his arse. “Can’t do that to him.”

“He’d find a way to be alright,” Liam laughs, leaning forward and kissing Zayn quick before he steps back to finish rinsing off, Zayn still watching him with interest, “think Niall would help with that.”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods, looking down with an unreadable expression on his face. Liam doesn’t want to ask, knows it’s nothing to do with him. “Should go, though. Said I’d get lunch with them before Niall’s off to work.”

“Alright,” Liam flicks some water in Zayn’s direction, laughing at the look on Zayn’s face like he’s offended, “I’ll text you after I get back, yeah?”

“Might be out, so if I don’t respond right away that’s it.” Zayn takes a step back when Liam tries to get him wet again. “We’ll talk soon.”

&&&

_Ur coming over soon y ?_

“Which one?” Harry asks as Zayn tries to type out a response to Liam.

“Uh, peas, I guess.”

_y just shopping w the lads now :) x_

“Neither of these is peas,” Harry says, making a face. He’s holding frozen corn and green beans. Zayn wrinkles his nose.

“Still vote peas. Alright, the beans,” he says, off Harry’s look. His phone buzzes again.

_:D_

He must look mental because Harry tugs on his earring and says, “Pull it together, Malik.”

“What?”

Harry rolls his eyes before making them all big and soppy, batting his lashes. 

“You’re one to talk,” Zayn says, nodding to where Niall’s riding their trolley down the aisle like it’s a scooter before Harry can take his shit imitation any further. 

“Please. I’m not the one who nearly burned the flat down this morning because he got a text.”

“It was a text from YOU because you wanted toast in bed!”

“And I never got it, did I?” Harry says sadly. Zayn jumps at him, the frozen veg falling as Harry tries to fight him off. Out of the corner of his eye, Zayn spots Niall laughing at them, making no attempts to intervene.

“Honestly,” he says, after they’ve been reprimanded by a stock boy, “how old are you? I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Sorry, Niall,” Harry says, jumping on Niall’s back so they can both ride the trolley towards check-out.

“Wait, I’ll take those,” he says, watching Niall and Harry load up their arms for the short trek back to the flat. Niall laughs.

“Why, so you can moan about how heavy it is all the way home and then moan about how you’ve got to turn around and head back to Liam’s?”

“I --” 

“Every time,” Harry says, laughing at Zayn’s insulted face. “Just go so we can execute our plan to steal a trolley without making you an accomplice.”

Zayn watches for the twitch in Harry’s cheek that’ll let him know he’s kidding, rolling his eyes when it finally comes. Harry knees him gently in the arse, spurring him on.

“Cheers, lads,” Zayn says, unable to tone down his smile. He hurries outside before they can start taking the piss, pulling out his phone to tell Liam he’s on his way. 

**

It’s been weeks now and Zayn’s still not tired of snogging Liam. Doesn’t think he’ll ever be, least not at this rate. 

Their dinner’s long forgotten, Liam turning off the hob as soon as Zayn’d crowded up against him, mouthing at the back of his neck. 

“It’ll keep,” he’d said, walking Zayn backwards all the way to the sofa, both of them toppling onto it while a _Friends_ marathon played low on the telly. 

Zayn’s only regret now is that they’d come out here, to the cramped sofa, instead of to Liam’s bedroom, where it’s easier to spread out. Although he does like the forced closeness of the sofa, the way their legs slot together, giving Zayn something to rock against while Liam kisses up the curve of his neck.

“Jesus,” he says, holding tighter to Liam’s waist so he doesn’t move when Zayn grinds against him. Liam’s all in tonight, like it’s been three weeks since they last saw each other instead of a few days. Not that Zayn’s any better, already hard from snogging like this.

“We should,” Liam kisses Zayn’s jaw, his chin, and then full on, both of them getting lost in it until Liam remembers he’d been talking and says, “move. We should move.”

Liam rolls off the sofa, pulling his shirt off as he goes. Zayn stares openly, taking in the faded mark on Liam’s neck, the tent in his joggers. Liam smirks, palming his cock. 

“Fuck, Li,” Zayn says. He’s known Liam for so long and still can’t get over how brazen he is like this. It makes something spark a fire in his blood every time.

Liam extends his hand like he’s going to help Zayn up and then switches gears at the last second, slaps Zayn’s stomach and says, “Last one in is a rotten egg!”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, holding the door open for Loki before shutting it again, laughing at Liam sprawled out on the bed, hand down his pants. “Couldn’t wait ten seconds for me?”

Liam shrugs, eyes bright as Zayn crawls up the bed, swinging his legs over Liam’s, caging him in before kissing him again, Liam melting into the mattress. Zayn’s come to expect it now, how Liam waits until they’re really in the thick of it to roll them, swallowing the exhalation Zayn makes as his back hits the bed. Just once Zayn would like to get Liam back to his place, kick Harry and Niall out and put Penelope to good use.

He pushes Liam’s pants down just enough that his cock’s free, watching the way Liam’s mouth falls open when Zayn first gets his hand round his cock, a dry stroke, just enough to get Liam distracted enough that Zayn can flip them again. 

“You fight dirty,” Liam says, flat on his back. 

“Always.” Zayn winks, pushing his pants all the way down, Liam kicking until they’re all the way off. 

“God.” Liam bites his lip when Zayn slides his foreskin back, keeping his eyes on Liam as he sticks out his tongue, licking flat over the head of Liam’s cock and the precome that’s already gathered there. Liam’s hand flies up, tangling in Zayn’s hair, not too tight, just like he likes.

Liam likes it messy, gets loud and shameless. Zayn still doesn’t understand how Liam has no hesitation in asking for what he wants, telling him how he likes it. Zayn’s trying to get better at it.

He pulls off Liam’s cock, wiping his mouth on his shoulder before slipping his hand behind Liam’s balls, letting his fingertip drag over Liam’s hole, a silent question. Liam doesn’t like Zayn’s fingers every time, but they’ve done it before, when they have the time. They’ve got all night. 

“Yeah,” Liam nods but he catches the front of Zayn’s top before he can duck back down, pulling him in for a snog instead. “Fuck, why’ve you still got all your clothes on?”

“Guess I’m just better at this than you.”

“Is that better?” Liam asks, eyebrow raised, making Zayn laugh as Liam tries to help him out of his shirt. 

“This is easier without you, you know,” Zayn says, somehow stuck. Liam leaves Zayn to it, scrapes his teeth over Zayn’s nipple until he hisses. 

“Think you’ll find it’s the opposite,” Liam says into Zayn’s skin, kissing a path downward to help Zayn out of his pants. “Much better.”

He kisses Zayn’s kneecap before crawling up, leaning over Zayn and into his nightstand, pressing the lube onto Zayn’s chest before collapsing next to him, legs splayed like an invitation. It’s… Zayn thinks his brain goes offline at the sight, Liam stroking his cock while he waits for him to get his act together.

“You’re something else,” he says, knocking Liam’s hand away, licking around the base of his cock, mouthing at his balls while he slicks his fingers, Liam groaning even before Zayn’s got his mouth on him proper. Well before he’s got any fingers in. 

“More,” Liam keeps asking, neck craned as he watches Zayn suck on the head of his cock, two fingers stretching him open.

“Yeah?” Zayn waits for Liam’s nod to adjust, working a third finger in, Liam’s mouth open like he’s trying to make a sound but can’t. 

“Fuck,” Liam says finally, pushing back, “think we should -- I want -- _fuck_ , Zayn.”

“What?” Zayn stretches up all the way, kisses the birthmark on Liam’s neck. “Tell me, Li.”

Liam pushes back against Zayn’s fingers another time, groaning, his voice rough when he says, “Want you to fuck me.”

Zayn goes still for a split second, wants to ask _What_ , make sure he’s heard right, but Liam’s twisting already, reaching for the nightstand even though Zayn’s still got his fingers curled inside him. 

“Liam, wait,” he says, pulling them out, settling Liam with a hand on his chest, “I’ve got it, yeah?”

He can’t remember if he’s ever seen Liam this desperate, his own cock twitching at the promise of what’s to come. Zayn sets the condom on the mattress and takes a minute to kiss Liam again. He just. He wants it to all go right. To make sure this is what Liam really wants. 

“Please,” Liam says, unbidden, like he can read Zayn’s mind or something. He curls his hand around the back of Zayn’s neck, kissing him again, hooking his leg around Zayn’s waist, his cock sliding in the hollow of Zayn’s hip. 

“Fuck,” Zayn breathes out, suddenly aware of how hard he is, how hard he’s been all night. 

“That’s what I’m saying,” Liam says, breathless, watching as Zayn tears open the condom, rolling it on and slicking himself up.

He wants to take his time, get Liam ready, but Liam’s like a runaway train, has no patience for Zayn’s fingers at this point. 

“Like this, yeah?” he asks, staring up at Zayn. 

“Yeah,” Zayn shifts, nudging his knees farther apart. “However you want, Li.” 

He feels like he should say something, warn Liam about how it’ll feel or remind him to breathe, but everything’s caught in his chest, one of Liam’s hands ringed round Zayn’s wrist where he’s braced himself like he just needs to hold on, to touch Zayn, and that’ll be enough to get him through. 

Zayn bites his lip as he pushes in, fights to keep his eyes open in case something flares wrong in Liam’s face. It’s a struggle; all he wants to do is sink into it, lose himself in Liam.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, “Liam, you’re…”

“You are,” Liam says, a laugh rumbling out of his chest after, his hand going tight on Zayn’s wrist. All Zayn wants to do is move, he can feel his thighs trembling with it. “Yeah, alright.”

Liam shifts tentatively, nodding the go-ahead, groaning when Zayn gets it right. “Yeah, fuck, again, like that.”

Zayn wishes he had the wherewithal to fuck Liam and toss him off and snog him, but it’s a struggle for two, trying to time his hand on Liam’s cock with his own thrusts. He tries though, Liam nearly bent in two under him so Zayn can kiss him, everything gone overwhelming and off-beat. 

Christ, he doesn’t even know how he’s lasted this long, Liam moaning underneath him, his lip swollen from biting it so hard. Zayn hooks his hand under Liam’s knee, hitching it higher, and Liam makes a sound he’s never heard before, Zayn ducking his head and kissing all the parts of Liam he can reach, willing himself to get Liam off first. 

“Jesus,” Liam says as Zayn thrusts deep, twisting his wrist, and Liam makes that same guttural sound, his whole body clenching as he comes. Zayn drops his head, working his hips quick, coming before Liam’s cock’s stopped pulsing fully. 

“Well,” Liam says after a minute, Zayn gone boneless on top of him, “I’m not sure about you, but _I’d_ be up for doing that again.”

**

Zayn expects Liam to doze -- he feels like he could drop off at any minute himself, really, only he feels wired at the same time, like he can’t get comfortable enough to fall asleep. Liam’s lying next to him, still sprawled out like he’ll never move again, his whole body slack, his breathing gone slow and steady. 

It’s weird, probably, to stay here and watch Liam sleep. He should get up and go watch some telly, dig up some of Liam’s comics that he hasn’t read yet. Do anything. He’s too tired for that, though, the thought of moving is dreadful, like Zayn’s body’s exhausted and it’s his stupid brain that’s keeping him up. 

“Did I ever tell you --”

“Jesus fuck,” Zayn says, clutching his chest. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Just resting my eyes,” Liam says, turning his head and smiling at Zayn. It takes him a minute to actually open his eyes, which makes Zayn suspicious of his whole story, but eventually he does, asking, “Did I ever tell you about the time I came home from work and one of my turtles was missing a foot?”

“What?” Zayn asks, incredulous. 

“Yeah, like --”

“No,” Zayn says, rolling onto his side, tucking his palm onto his cheek, “start from the beginning. You had turtles?”

“Oh, yeah,” Liam rolls over, kicking his leg out until he can worm his ankle in between Zayn’s, “Boris and Archimedes!”

“What?” Zayn laughs, incredulous again, Liam smiling sleepily as he starts in on his story. 

Zayn’s not sure how long Liam talks for, telling Zayn about his turtles and why he’s always been terrified of spoons and that time Harry nearly got them kicked out of a party for filling one of Caz’s friends’ pockets with olives. He only knows that the sun’s starting to come up when he finally starts to drift off, Liam voice soft in his ear, his ankle still hooked over Zayn’s, a solid reminder that Liam’s not gone anywhere.

&&&

“Niall!” Harry yells when he hears the front door open, glad to have him home even if it means his shift got cut short. That’s fine. They’ll make do. “I’ve missed you!”

“S’just me, Haz,” Zayn says, lifting Harry’s hat off his face. He’d been trying to have a nap but the sun was too bright. It comes in at just the wrong angle this time of year. 

“Didn’t expect you back so soon.” Usually Zayn doesn’t come home from Liam’s til near nightfall.

Harry watches him find a change of clothes, chucking his dirty ones into his laundry bag. God, they’ve been avoiding that for too long now. They should go this weekend, get Liam to come, make an afternoon of it.

“You going out tonight?” he asks.

“No,” Zayn wrinkles his nose, “not really in the mood. You?”

Harry shrugs. He’s got enough for now. “Probably not.”

Zayn hums distractedly, starts straightening the hangers. He’s fidgety, same way he gets when he’s out of cigarettes and can’t afford a new pack. It’s contagious, makes Harry feel fidgety too, and that’s not on.

“Oi,” he waves his foot through the air, drawing a circle with his toes when Zayn turns around, “what’s all this?”

Zayn makes a face, pushing Harry’s foot back to the bed. He’s not tense, just got a weird look on his face. Harry doesn’t understand it.

“Where’s Niall?”

“Work. He’s at the bar ‘til 7.”

Zayn nods, looking hesitant until Harry pats the space next to him, Zayn coming round the side of the bed and settling in. Harry can’t remember the last time they did this, just the two of them having a cuddle. He hadn’t realized how he’s missed it. Zayn lets out a breath when Harry rubs his shoulder, it coming from somewhere deep. 

“Slept with Liam last night,” he says, picking a bit of imaginary lint off Harry’s t-shirt, “proper like.” He takes another deep breath, rolling his eyes at himself. “Liam and I shagged, I mean.”

“Zayn!” Harry sits up straight, feeling like he’s just heard breaking news. It’s been months since Zayn first told him he and Liam kissed and Harry’d been so good about not pressing, knowing Zayn hadn’t wanted him to, had needed space to sort through everything on his own. But this. Now. “What?!”

“You heard me.”

“I did,” Harry nods, “and I have a lot of questions.”

“Oh god.” Zayn covers his face with his hands but Harry pulls them down, grinning at him. It’s _Liam_ and he and Zayn have been working towards this for so long; Harry doesn’t want Zayn getting trapped in his own head about it. 

“Was it slow? Was it fast? Did he do press-ups in the middle? Don’t make that face, I’ve watched him do press-ups before. I’ve watched _you_ watch him do press-ups, Zayn, I know you like it.”

“Harry!” Zayn doesn’t sound scandalized, just like, generally appalled by everything he’s saying, which is how he is half the time anyway, so Harry doesn’t pay him any mind.

“What did he say during? Was there like, Batman dirty talk? I bet there was. No, don’t go anywhere,” he sits on Zayn’s legs to keep him from rolling away, “you haven’t answered any of my questions!”

“You haven’t given me a chance!” Zayn says, laughing a bit, not even trying to get free. Harry lets go of his wrists and sprawls on top of him, turning his trap into a full-body hug.

“Was it good?” he asks, nudging his nose up against Zayn’s adam’s apple, feeling him swallow.

“Yeah,” Zayn wraps his arms around Harry, hugging back. “Yeah, Haz. It was really good.”

Harry squeezes him tight, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s throat. He lets the silence settle before he asks, “Did he make you be Gwen Stacey?” 

**

He counts his money carefully, straightening the wadded up notes before double checking his maths. 

“Short?” Niall asks from the sofa, Harry shaking his head. It’s close, though. He supposes he could head out, do something quick, but it’s started to get cold recently, the real kind of cold that means winter’s just around the corner. 

“We live to see another day,” he says, putting everything away, moving Niall’s notebook aside so he can flop next to him on the sofa.

“We shall not go quietly into the night!” Niall’s American accent is surprisingly good. Harry’s impressed, nearly knocks Niall’s guitar out of his lap when he applauds.

“Sorry,” Harry rescues it at the last second, settles it in his own lap, strumming. He laughs at the face Niall makes. “Is that not the right chord?”

He plays it again, moves his hand along the frets like he knows what he’s doing, singing the chorus to “Isn’t She Lovely?” while he plays nothing of the sort. Niall lets it go on for nearly a minute before he puts a stop to it. 

“Give me that.” Harry thinks Niall’s going to take the guitar back but he just adjusts it in his arms, trying to fix Harry’s fingers on the frets before cursing under his breath and getting up, moving to Harry’s other side so he can reach behind him, make Harry’s hand curve like his own from the right angle. “Now try it. But don’t sing that song.”

“Heyyyy.”

“No,” Niall laughs, a gust of air on Harry’s cheek, “only ‘cause I don’t know it. Just -- you play and I’ll sing, yeah?”

He gives it a go, Niall laughing again, asking, “Where’s the pick?”

“You had it,” Harry says, nodding to where Niall’d been. He’d only caught the guitar in the scuffle.

“You were --” Niall stops himself, going to look on the floor while Harry lifts the cushions, trying not to make a face at all the dust and dirt. 

“Oh, ten pence! No pick though.” 

Niall checks his pockets and gives up. “I’ll grab a new one, hang on.” 

Harry fixes the cushions, puts Niall’s notebook back from where he’d moved it. He doesn’t mean to read it, the pages were already flopped open and his eyes pause on it, knows Niall’s always working out new stuff. Stuff he probably shouldn’t see, the way Zayn never liked Harry flipping through his sketchbook, so he doesn’t let himself look closer, check if the scratched out part really says dimples like he thinks.

He presses his lips together to keep his smile at bay, feeling like he’s bloody Zayn, headed over the moon for a dumbshit text. He thinks he gets why Zayn took his time with Liam; Harry doesn’t want to cock this up either, end up back at square one, just him and Penelope.

“Alright,” Niall’s all smiles when he comes back, pressing the pick into Harry’s hand deliberately, moving Harry’s other hand back to the right position, “let’s try this again.”

“What chord’s this again?” Harry asks, testing it out, it sounding better once Niall moves his fingers a bit. “Bear claw?”

“Turkey leg,” Niall laughs, getting the joke immediately. Harry can’t remember a time they weren’t on the exact same page. It’s what makes Harry feel like someone’s got his heart in a vise, so different from how things had been with Caz. He shoves it down before he can think about it more, how much worse it could be, bad like Zayn’d said it was. “They’re easy to confuse. Now, you ready?”

Harry nods, starts playing, Niall’s voice filling in the gaps where Harry can’t get the notes quite right.

**

“Oh, you’re back,” Niall smiles, dropping his notebook onto the floor, “didn’t know when to expect you. Thought you’d be later, I guess.”

“It was just a small thing,” Harry kicks off his boots, his coat on the floor with them as he crawls onto the sofa, shoving his cold hands under Niall’s side, feeling him flinch and then relax, like it’s not as bad as he’d been expecting, “Grimmy had a few friends over. Made a roast.”

“Did you sneak any back?”

“Not that kind of crowd,” Harry says, leaning against Niall’s arm, resisting the urge to bury his nose in Niall’s sleeve. The wind had been the worst part of the walk to the tube, Harry refusing Grimmy’s offer for a taxi because he’d wanted a few minutes to himself. 

“It was,” Niall clears his throat, making a face at himself as he asks, “Grimmy was good, though? I mean --”

“Yeah, was a good time. He had an extra apron, let me wear it while we made rolls so I didn’t get flour all on me.”

“Did a shit job.” Niall rubs at a smudge on Harry’s shirt. 

“Oh,” Harry laughs, licks his thumb and wipes it fully away, “whoops. Guess Grimmy got a bit carried away while we were… indisposed.”

It’s a split second, Niall’s hesitation before he laughs, over so quick Harry’s not sure if he imagined it. 

“Does this mean you had your shirt _buttoned_ the whole night? Hazza, I am _shocked_.” Niall’s tripping over his words, laughing too hard to sound proper appalled. 

“I told you,” Harry fights against his own grin, feeling like he’s permanently shit at keeping a straight face around Niall, no matter the circumstances, “it was a fancy dinner party! Wine, candles, --”

“And you with your tits out.” He tries to worm his hand into Harry’s top, ends up sending them both tumbling to the ground, Niall grunting when Harry lands on top of him.

“Are you alright?” Harry presses up, holding himself over Niall, trying to see if he’s got head trauma or some such. How big are his pupils normally? Harry has no idea, can’t remember what Niall’s eyes look like from a normal distance, not when he’s so close.

“Haz,” Niall says, sounding like the wind’s been knocked out of him.

“You’re alright?” His eyes flick down to Niall’s mouth, watching him lick his lips before he nods, slowly. Everything feels slowed down as he ducks his head to kiss Niall, keeping it soft as he makes sure to brace himself so Niall doesn’t have to suffer his whole weight. 

It’s so different from the last time, when Niall had been half-hard and stoned, Harry just trying to keep up. Niall’s barely touching him now, his hands the gentlest pressure on Harry’s shoulder blades. It’s odd in a way Harry can’t place, can’t decide if it’s Niall being tentative or if he’s just following Harry’s lead. 

Harry deepens the kiss, licking past Niall’s chapped lips and into his mouth, wondering if that’ll make Niall hold him closer. Niall’s fingers twitch, digging in for a moment and then settling again, palms flat. They stay like that even as Harry bites his bottom lip, Niall moaning a bit, shifting, Harry feeling the way his cock’s started to fill up. He doesn’t know why that, out of everything, makes him break away when normally it’d have him fumbling for his flies. Everything’s so different with Niall it sends his head spinning.

He likes it, the differences, but they feel so glaring sometimes, make him second guess himself even though he knows that they’re what makes everything better. Feels like a twat for even thinking of everything like this, well torn up of what’s a bloody good thing.

It’s just. He wants to make a go of it, really, but Niall’s his roommate, one of his best mates. He fits into Harry’s life like he’s always been here and Harry’s got a quiet voice in the back of his head reminding him how easily he could leave. 

Niall traces the swell of Harry’s lip, eyes flashing when Harry licks out, catching the tip of his thumb. It makes Niall laugh, press the pad of his thumb flat against Harry’s lip, his face going soft when Harry purses his lips, kissing it. 

“Hazza.” Niall touches the underside of Harry’s chin, a silent question. Harry doesn’t think he’d be insulted if Harry didn’t bend down to kiss him again; Niall knows him too well, knows he needs time. But Harry does, dips his head and brushes their mouths together, goes back to the slow, gentle snog they’d started with. Keeps at it until he can’t hear that anxious voice in the back of his mind, just the quiet sounds he’s drawing out of Niall. 

Eventually they stop, Harry rolling Niall and onto the floor next to him, his mouth tingling. He’s buzzing again, turning his head so he can watch Niall stare up at the ceiling. He’s so quiet. 

He must feel Harry staring because he turns his head, giving a brilliant grin, the kind Harry thinks could blind a person. He reaches out, going to poke Niall’s nose, getting diverted at the last second, Niall catching his hand, holding it instead. 

“Should like, shower,” Harry says eventually, Niall letting go of his hand.

“Yeah, you’ve got some,” Niall rolls, pushing his fingers through Harry’s hair, “flour here, too. Did any actually make it into the food?”

“I’m an ace baker!”

“Uh-huh.” Niall pats Harry’s stomach before rolling to his feet, reaching for his notebook as he reclaims his spot on the sofa. After a bit he looks up. “Thought you said you were gonna shower.”

“I’m getting there. Eventually.” 

Niall rolls his eyes, laughing. Harry reaches over his head, points his toes as he makes himself one long line. The stretch feels good. He feels good.

&&&

Loki pulls on his leash hard enough that Liam starts jogging, breaking into a run when Loki picks up speed. They go a distance like that, Liam running until Loki starts to flag and his own lungs are burning from the cold. He feels bad, hasn’t taken Loki out for a long run in months, feels like, has been splitting most of his free time between gigs and Zayn instead.

Zayn’s spooning up biryani when they finally get back, smiling when they slump into the kitchen, both heading straight for drinks of water.

“Could’ve turned the heat up if you were cold,” Liam says, pushing Zayn’s hood off as he kisses him hello again. He knows Zayn’s got his principles, standing firm on living with Harry, giving Liam money for groceries and dinners regularly, insisting that it’s only fair. But there’s a difference between going halfsies on Nando’s and sitting in the cold like a martyr.

“Put a sweatshirt on instead.” He pulls back, nose wrinkling when he notices Liam’s sweaty. “Did you want to shower first? Could put it in the oven, it’ll keep a bit.”

“Am I that gross?”

“Pretty bad, babe. Think the cold’s made it like, stick to you. Not you, you’re still alright.” He pats Loki’s head when he jumps up, paws on Zayn’s front.

“This bloated favoritism.” Liam shakes his head, Zayn’s head tilting when he smiles. “What?”

“Nothing. Go shower, I’ll wait but not long. Been hungry since before you two decided to run a marathon.”

Liam leaves him to stick the plates in the oven, Loki whining for dinner. He knows Zayn’ll feed him next, that he knows his routine just as well as Liam at this point. 

**

“Shhh,” Zayn says, probably a bit stupidly, because neither of them had been making any noise, Liam biting his lip while Zayn busied himself licking a path up Liam’s neck. 

He’d come over to Zayn’s flat for dinner, bringing beer like a proper houseguest, and now he and Zayn are stuck sleeping on the worst sofa Liam’s ever encountered, both too pissed to stumble back to Liam’s at this hour. Maybe snogging like this isn’t the best idea, what with Harry and Niall asleep just a wall away, but Zayn’s flat hasn’t got television and Liam hadn’t seen him last night. 

“ _Zayn_.” Liam’s never been good at keeping quiet, the noise surprising him, his eyes going wide as Zayn laughs. Liam pulls him in with both hands on his cheeks, kissing him to swallow the sound. “They’ll hear you.”

“Me?” Zayn licks into Liam’s mouth as he grinds down, desperate for friction. Liam wants to get out of these bloody jeans; the zip’s digging into his cock and it’s bloody uncomfortable. He needs -- “What’re you doing?” Zayn hisses as Liam reaches between them, getting his flies undone and wriggling. 

“What?” he says too loudly. He whispers, “I’ve still got my pants on.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Zayn says, or least that’s what Liam thinks he meant to say. It all falls apart when Liam slips his hands into the back of Zayn’s trackies, squeezing his arse. Zayn bites his lip. It’s not fair. He’s so much better at being silent than Liam, even now, completely pissed, snogging like they’re fourteen and trying to get off before someone’s mum comes home from work.

Liam shifts his legs so that they’re slotted together proper, able to move in counterpoint, Zayn getting lazy and letting Liam do most of the work, rocking up and then pulling Zayn back down against him while they kiss. Zayn’s gasp is quiet but it seems loud in the silence, a sharp inhalation before he comes, burying his face in Liam’s shoulder to catch any more sounds.

Liam’s not far behind, grinding up into Zayn's dead weight a handful more times before his cock starts pulsing. Zayn has the presence of mind to press his hand to Liam’s mouth just in time, Liam’s muffled groan echoing through through the room anyway.

It’s so loud it makes Zayn laugh, which sets Liam off. It makes it hard to kiss, their teeth clacking as they remind each other to be quiet. 

Liam wakes up to a loud crash; he’s got no idea when he fell asleep, but Zayn’s still sprawled on top of him, breathing through his mouth. He doesn’t move when Liam pokes his ribs or when there’s another crash.

“Sorry!” Harry yells, Liam wincing. Fuck, his head hurts. There’s another crash and then Harry’s there, apologizing again. “Dropped another pan! Didn’t mean to. Did it wake you?”

He doesn’t look very sorry, at least not what Liam can see of him. His vision’s kind of bleary. God, he needs panadol and water. He wonders if Harry’ll bring him some if he looks pitiful enough.

Harry drops the pan he’s holding again. 

“Haz,” Niall laughs from the kitchen. 

“Oops,” is all Harry says.

So probably a no on the pity, Liam thinks.

“Zayn.” He squirms around, trying to sort himself out, everything coming back slowly. Dinner. Beers. Undoing his flies because he thought it’d help. He’s a bloody idiot, falling asleep like that, jeans pushed down, pants riding low. He’s literally millimeters from full penis while Harry and Niall sing loudly in the kitchen.

His hands brush Zayn’s stomach as he does his jeans up, Zayn rocking down automatically before making an annoyed sound as he realizes.

“Breakfast!” Harry shouts, it finally waking Zayn up fully. 

“Gonna shower first,” he says, moving slowly, his eyes not even open. Liam’s slightly glad he feels like shit too. They’re in this together.

“Nope! We’re all eating together.” Harry’s back, grinning at them from the doorway. “I’ve been up since eight.”

“What time is it now?” Zayn asks. He’s given up, sat right on Liam’s shins. The pain is tolerable compared to Liam’s head.

“Eleven,” Harry says. 

Zayn waits until he’s gone again to look at Liam. “My pants are _disgusting_.”

“Mine aren’t?”

Zayn frowns like the whole world’s offending him. Liam tries to sit up but it hurts too much; this sofa’s even shittier than Zayn’d said. He has to settle for patting Zayn’s hand instead of smoothing his hair like he’d wanted.

“You look like an angry duck,” he says, laughing at the way Zayn’s hair’s sticking up on all ends. It’s probably Liam’s fault; he knows he’d been pulling at it last night. 

Zayn shoots him a death glare.

“You really do.” Niall grins at them both, laughing when Zayn flips him off. “Should shake a leg, Haz’s only gonna get louder.”

“Niall,” Harry drapes himself over Niall’s back, Niall holding Harry’s wrists to his chest so he can’t wave the spatula around too much, getting bits of egg everywhere, “don’t give away all my secret weapons.”

Niall twists, pecking Harry’s cheek. Harry’d cornered Liam last night, telling him how they were taking it slow, trying to make a go of it the same way he and Zayn had. That it was early days and he didn’t want to jinx it, but. 

“Hate to break it to you, but I think they know them all already.”

Harry pouts, Niall stealing the spatula and smacking him on the arse with it, them both laughing and chasing each other around the flat. 

“Please don’t put that back in our breakfast,” Zayn says, so quietly that only Liam hears.

**

It's late when Liam finally gets home, later than he'd meant when he told Zayn to come over anyway, use the spare key to let himself in. He hadn’t been able to cut out of the gig though, his date a sweet older lady who’d just been desperate to chat, ordering Liam a fresh drink every time he’d gone to leave.

“Zayn?” he says, taking the corner slowly. There’s light so he’s expecting Zayn to be half asleep on the sofa, but there’s no one there. Just the end table lamp left on like Zayn hadn’t wanted him to come home to a dark flat. 

Sometimes it’s the stupidest things that make Liam’s heart feel like it’s swapped places with his stomach. 

He finds Zayn in bed, sound asleep, Loki curled into the bend of his knees like he loves to do. 

“Hi, buddy,” he scratches Loki’s head, which apparently annoys him. He whines before jumping off the bed, slinking out of the room to sleep on the sofa. Zayn shifts in his sleep, spreading out now that he’s got more of the bed to himself. He used to sleep so stiffly, never moved at all, like he was afraid to take up any more space than allowed. 

Liam tries to be quiet as possible but his movements are fumbling because of one too many gin and tonics. He’s not pissed, just sloppy, taking three tries to hang up his jacket. He remembers at the last second, reaching to the inside pocket to pull out the tiny comic Zayn had slipped in there at some point. Could’ve been weeks ago, Liam doesn’t know, but he’d found it today when he was fixing his pocket square. He tucks it into his sock drawer for safe keeping. _The Adventures of Super-Liam and Zaynman_. 

They’d had to team up to rescue Harry from an evil… Liam’s still not sure what it was, maybe a snake? And his dog-minion? It had been hard to follow, the panels tiny, cramped like Zayn had drawn them hastily. 

Still. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it all night. Was a horrid date because of it, completely distracted. It’s part of why he’d stuck around so long, the guilt of not listening to her fully. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, pats Zayn’s cheek until he frowns, the same face he always makes when someone wakes him up. Liam keeps at it, scratches his fingers through Zayn’s beard, saying, “Hey.”

“You’re back?” Zayn leans into Liam’s palm without opening his eyes. “There’s a plate in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

It’s always the stupidest things, Liam thinks.

“Hey,” he says, a bit louder, wanting Zayn to look at him, smiling when he finally does. Zayn’s hand finds his, squeezing, making everything that’s running through Liam’s mind stutter, gather in a giant lump in his throat. He pauses to swallow before he says, “You’re like… you’re my best friend.”

Zayn’s whole faces changes like Liam’s just said something completely unexpected.

“Li.” Instead of trying to sit up he just tugs Liam down, his hand automatically curling around Liam’s neck so they can kiss, Liam licking the sleep-sour taste out of Zayn’s mouth until it’s gone, until Zayn’s undoing the buttons of the shirt Liam’d forgotten he was still wearing. 

He doesn’t get a chance to take it off, Zayn pushing him onto his back, kissing all the exposed parts of Liam’s chest like they’re brand new. Liam threads his hand through the back of Zayn’s hair, fingers tightening when Zayn bites his nipple. He can feel the curve of Zayn’s smile on his skin, thinks he’d know that smile anywhere. That in any parallel universe, in any life, he’d recognize Zayn.

“What,” he guides Liam’s cock out of his pants, pausing, “what do you want, Liam?”

Zayn’s still soft from sleep, his hair sticking up, a pillow crease on his cheek. Liam traces his finger along to where it disappears into his beard. 

“What do _you_ want?” he asks, which is probably a bit unfair since he’s only just woken Zayn up. But he really wants to know, hadn’t roused him for this, had just wanted to tell him --

“You,” Zayn says simply, letting go of Liam’s cock to crawl up his body, snogging him again. Liam hooks his leg around one of Zayn’s, uses that for a bit of leverage, heat flooding his veins every time their cocks rub. 

He kicks out of his pants while Zayn goes for a condom, lube, grinning when Zayn’s too busy pulling off his kit to realize Liam’s getting started without him.

“Jesus, Liam, warn a bloke.” Zayn stares openly at Liam working a finger into himself. 

“What do you want,” Liam’s voice sounds strained; he takes a breath and waits, it sounding better when he says, “a parade?”

Zayn laughs against the inside of Liam’s knee. “Don’t be a twat.”

“Pot, kettle,” Liam points between them, chuckling at the face Zayn makes, his mouth going perfectly round.

“And to think I was going to offer to help you out.” He does anyway, slicks his fingers and waits, timing it so he can slip one in alongside Liam’s. He kisses Liam’s hip, humming while Liam gets used to the stretch. “Could blow you?”

Liam doesn’t want that, though, wants to last tonight, doesn’t want to be on edge before Zayn’s even inside him. He shakes his head, feeling Zayn’s finger curl around his own inside him. Zayn grins when Liam’s moan echoes through the room. 

“Can you like,” Zayn pauses after he’s rolled the condom on, still holding the lube. He worries his lip as he tries to decide something; Liam waits, ignoring the ache now that he’s empty, arse clenching around nothing. 

“What?”

“Want you,” Zayn starts, a flush on his cheeks. He nudges Liam’s leg until he shifts, giving Zayn more room to spread out on his back. “Here.”

He pulls Liam’s arm until he rolls over, Zayn underneath him, laid out against all the pillows. 

“Lazy,” Liam teases, reaching back to help Zayn guide his cock in. He drops his head, breathing through it, thighs already shaking a bit from how he’s lowering himself so slowly. Zayn strokes his hand over Liam’s side, from his armpit all the way down to his knee, one smooth motion before sliding his hand right back up. 

Liam hadn’t realized how close Zayn’s face was, the pillows propping him up, making it so easy for them to snog, hardly any reach at all. He lifts himself up a bit before dropping down again, the angle making his cock slide wet against Zayn’s abs. 

He’s expecting a smart remark for calling Zayn lazy, but all he gets is Zayn staring up at him, his hand on Liam’s cheek, fingers playing at the shorn sides of Liam’s hair. Zayn loves how it feels, had told Liam last weekend while he was cutting Liam’s hair for him; he’d originally planned on letting it grow a bit, but Zayn’s smile had been too hard to resist. 

“Alright?” Liam asks, not sure why he feels the need to check. Zayn’s looking at him differently or something, staring like he’s never seen Liam before. It makes Liam’s skin prickle, goose bumps rising up on his arms as he works himself on Zayn’s cock, Zayn’s mouth going slack as he moans.

“God, Liam,” he plants his feet on the bed, changing the angle just enough that his cock hits even deeper, Liam sparking up from the inside, “you’re…”

He kisses Liam hard, sloppy, tongue moving in time with his thrusts. Liam’s stomach is wet with his own precome and he hasn’t even gotten a hand on his cock yet, it trapped between them as Zayn wraps his arm around Liam’s shoulders like he wants to get him even closer. Liam wishes it were possible, wants to stay tucked up in Zayn’s arms like this, chasing the filled-up feeling that comes with every slow thrust, for as long as he can.

It feels like a surprise when Liam comes, everything cresting over him like a wave, Zayn working him through it, kissing him as his own thrusts go erratic. Zayn holds Liam’s hip, pulling him down firmly so his cock’s buried deep as he comes, moaning Liam’s name like it’s the only word he knows.

Liam loves him a lot in that moment. He loves him a lot all the time.

He kisses Zayn so he doesn’t say something soppy in the moment, curls his fingers in Zayn’s hair and kisses him for a really long time, until Zayn strokes his spine and says, “Babe, I gotta.”

“Yeah.” He watches Zayn slip carefully out of bed and into the loo, coming back with a flannel, yawning widely while Liam cleans up. 

“Sorry I woke you,” Liam says drowsily, lips dragging across the fantail on Zayn’s neck. 

Zayn pushes backwards, tugging Liam's arm around his middle. "I'm not."

Liam doesn’t care if Zayn can feel him smiling against his neck. He already knows Zayn’s smiling into his pillow.


	4. we have wanted to know the worst

“If I go out with Nick tonight,” Harry says, his teeth chattering around the words, “we should be square.” He flicks his eyes over at Niall when he speaks, and Niall looks down, biting his lip.

They’re all huddled over the cramped kitchen table and wrapped in every jumper and blanket in the flat. There’s a sad pile of money in the center of it, Zayn sorting it into a neat stack. Niall woke up freezing, and not just because Harry was already up and out of bed, swearing some nonsense in the other room about how his feet were frozen to the floor.

“Right,” Zayn sighs, “‘s a crap time to have the heat shut off. Fucking freezing.” He finishes counting it out. “You sure you can make up the difference? I was taking the night off, but right now I’m cold enough to do anything.” He rubs his fingers together, raising them to his lips to blow on the tips. 

“Anything?” Harry asks, his eyes lighting up, “because Nick said --” 

“No.” Zayn holds up his hand, shaking his head, pulling an awful face. “Full stop.”

“Fair enough.” Harry shrugs, grinning over at Niall, and Niall pushes his lips up into what he hopes passes as a smile. Niall feels like a right idiot for letting Harry going out with Nick bother him. It’s safer than most of the other shit Harry gets up to, and Niall’s still coasting on his last one-off escort job with Liam. It’s been slower at the pub so he hasn’t been working regular hours in a fortnight or so, been too cold to really get any traction busking. 

But. Nick. It gets under his skin, settles there. Makes Niall itch with it. It feels wrong, to his own self. Against how he likes to be.

“I can see if Liam’s got a job tonight,” Niall hears himself say, surprised at how bright and loud his voice sounds to his own ears. Zayn’s eyebrows shoot up in mild surprise, and Niall widens his eyes in his direction until Zayn looks back down, a low chuckle escaping as he does. Twat. Niall regrets telling him fecking anything. 

“Nialllllll,” Harry draws out his name, singsonging it in that way he does late at night sometimes, in that way that makes every fucking hair on Niall’s body stand on end, the fucker, “my little volunteeeeeer.” 

Harry climbs over his chair in a mass of sprawling limbs and pushes at Niall’s shoulders, shoving up behind him on the pouf Niall’s perched on. His warmth is overwhelming as he wraps himself around Niall like a blanket, pressing his face to Niall’s. Zayn is full-out laughing now, counting the money again, and Niall fucking hates how he wishes his cheek wasn’t so cold so he could feel the scrape of Harry’s stubble against his skin. Like a prat. 

“It’s all sorted,” Harry whispers in his ear, his voice making Niall go pliant against him involuntarily. Harry’s arms wrap around him tighter. “It’ll be more than enough, we can even have some for a takeaway after, I won’t be too late.”

“And what are we to do ‘til then?” Niall asks, hearing how low his voice sounds, murmuring so he doesn’t move his jaw too quick, like he doesn’t want to startle Harry away.

“Library,” Harry says, the _duh_ heavily implied. “Always warm, can’t kick us out, lots to read, lots of places to sit. Right, Zayner?”

It’s only when Harry says his name that Niall stops thinking about Harry and looks over at Zayn, who’s gone silent. His face has that blank quality Niall’s used to by now, the one he gets sometimes when he’s thinking over something. There’s more to it, though. Niall can’t really --

“Harry.” Zayn says it quietly, but there’s a tone there that makes Niall sit up. Harry’s hands move to the tops of Niall’s thighs, squeezing slightly; Niall forces himself to relax and not say anything.

“It’s warm,” Harry says, and it sounds careful. Much more careful than Harry ever is. It makes Niall feel like there’s a whole conversation happening he’s not aware of.

“Warm,” Zayn echoes. Niall watches him blink, slowly.

“Or we could text Liam, and…” Harry trails off, and Zayn looks down, something playing at his lips. Might be a smile, might be a scowl. Harry’s hands are tightening around Niall again, so he can’t decide. He’ll ask Harry later. Feels like he’s betraying Zayn, even thinking that.

“Okay, okay.” Zayn sighs. “The library.”

“RESULT!” Harry yells, right in Niall’s ear. He yelps and elbows Harry hard, the two of them falling in a pile on the floor. Niall listens to Harry laugh, staring at the ceiling while he exhales, trying to concentrate on whether or not he can see it in the cold air that surrounds them.

**

It takes Zayn half a pack before he’ll go in, but he finally does. Niall watches how he carries himself, how he straightens his back as soon as he gets over the library’s threshold. It makes Niall feel sad a bit and he doesn’t know why, so he rolls his eyes at how Harry’s already leaning over the circulation desk to flirt with the older lady sitting there and follows Zayn over to an area not too far from the door. There are magazines, and low sofas and chairs that look well worn and comfortable. Zayn glances back at Niall once before he flops down on one. It’s startling, how he can go from stick-straight to looking like he’s suddenly missing his bones, all in one move. 

“Haz was right, it’s nice in here,” Niall says as he settles on the chair next to where Zayn is already stretched out. Zayn tips his head back over the arm of the sofa to look at him, his face scrunched up like he’s working out some intense maths problem.

“Yeah,” he finally says, so quietly Niall could swear he wasn’t saying a bloody thing at all. 

“Could go to Liam’s, though?” Niall tries, keeping his own voice soft. Zayn’s got this whole complicated set of rules that he’d tried to explain it to Niall once. It means he’ll spend half his time with Liam and the other half grumpy he’s _not_ with Liam, but Niall gets it, how sometimes you need lines in the sand and that money is the one thing Zayn won’t take from Liam. It works for them, at least. Besides, Niall’s pretty sure that Harry would have a neverending fit if Zayn ever did move out.

“He’s got a job today,” Zayn murmurs, “and he’d just insist on paying. We can handle it.”

“Feel bad,” Niall says, knowing he’s talking too loud by half. He reaches out to card his fingers through Zayn’s hair, hopes he’s preoccupied enough that he won’t belt him one for it. 

“Why?” Zayn’s voice sounds louder now. He pushes his head back into Niall’s fingertips, stretching a bit until Niall realizes what he wants and starts scratching at Zayn’s scalp, moving his fingers in swirling patterns. He can feel Zayn start to relax, Niall hoping that if he takes deep and even breaths, it’ll seep into Zayn through this small point of contact.

“Dunno,” Niall shrugs, “I s’pose because I’ve been coasting a bit, yeah? Haven’t been working as much, haven’t been, well. I dunno.” He doesn’t say anything about Bressie mentioning the possible gig that might be finally coming up once the slow season picks up because he doesn’t want to jinx it. He’s been patient with Harry. He can be patient with everything else.

“Mate,” Zayn’s tone is affectionate, and it makes Niall’s stomach hurt, “you chipped in fucking all from your last job with Liam, more than your share. We’ve all been...sometimes it’s hard.” He pushes back into Niall’s fingers again, and Niall realizes that he’s stopped moving them, starting up again. “Haz’s got it sorted. I’m being a lazy sod, but I gotta be honest, I don’t have it in me today.”

“Well as long as Harry’s got it sorted,” Niall tries to laugh, but it comes out as this weird sound he’s pretty fucking embarrassed by instead. Zayn chuckles and Niall slides his hand so he’s palming the top of Zayn’s head, looking down at how dark Zayn’s hair is against the pale skin of his fingers. He waits for Zayn to say something.

“Harry’s got it sorted, but he’s not sorted,” Zayn says, and Niall wants him to explain what he really _means_ , really, but Zayn’s more than half asleep at that point so Niall just sits there without moving his hand until Harry’s suddenly there, two inward pointed boots on the floor in front of him. Niall looks up, tries not to let his eyes travel too slowly upward. 

“Shhhh,” Harry whispers exaggeratedly, nodding toward Zayn, “the baby’s sleeeeeping.” 

Niall can’t help but smile at him, is the whole problem, done and dusted. Just like he can’t help but follow him when Harry nearly snaps his neck motioning toward the back of the library, slowly removing his hand from Zayn’s sleeping head. 

Harry doesn’t look back but he reaches out and finds Niall’s wrist without effort anyway, closing his fingers around it so they overlap. He leads Niall silently through a maze of shelves and rooms and trips and turns until they’re in some other part entirely, stacks and stacks of dust and history and philosophy and science and sport and fuck all else surrounding them. 

“Where is this?” Niall asks, his voice echoing weirdly. Harry laughs.

“The library.” He elbows Niall and laughs again before he slumps back against a shelf and grins up at him. 

“Hilarious,” Niall says, mirroring Harry’s position across from him. He slumps down until when he stretches out his legs the toe of his trainers bump into the pointed toe of Harry’s old boots. Niall knows that Harry’s been stuffing newspapers in the bottom to help with the holes lately. He moves his foot to bump into Harry’s toe again. “You need to get new ones.”

“I’ll just nick a pair from Nick,” Harry shrugs, “he’s got too many anyway, he’ll probably tell me which pair to take. He’s always on about it.”

“Okay.” Niall puts his foot on top of Harry’s, pressing down, and then moves it back. Does it a few times. Doesn’t look up when he asks, “do you still think of Nick as like. A client?”

“He pays me, so yeah,” Harry answers easily, and when Niall finally looks up he’s staring down at their feet, a smile on his face. “But a friend too, like? I don’t know, he’s nice. Makes me laugh sometimes, with his ways. I know how much he likes it. Likes me. Doesn’t feel as much like a job, sometimes.”

“Thought none of it seemed like a job to you,” Niall says slowly, knowing it’s not the truth as he moves his foot on top of Harry’s again, without looking down, focusing on Harry’s face instead. He’s rewarded when Harry’s dimples deepen, two boots suddenly bracketing Niall’s left foot, holding him in place. 

“I guess I just don’t think about it much, really.” Harry shrugs. He looks up, clear green eyes meeting Niall’s, and Niall feels cold again, all over. 

“Is Zayn okay?” Niall asks as Harry’s already straightening up, stepping forward in the narrow aisle to surround Niall with his arms.

“What?” Harry looks confused for a moment, and Niall could fucking kick his own arse for ruining whatever was about to happen. “Oh. Zayner.”

“Just. This place, and the thing at home, and even getting him in here, and --” Niall starts babbling for his own life, because Harry’s smiling at him, but his eyes look different, darker somehow than they were.

“Zayn’s got a history here,” Harry shrugs, “he’ll tell you eventually, it was ages before he felt comfortable enough to tell me. But he’s with Liam now, so he’s doing so much better. And now we have the library! Where it’s warm!” 

“And toasty.” Niall says, pushing Zayn out of his mind to focus on how there’s a curl escaping Harry’s beanie, curling over the pilled edge. 

“I love reading,” Harry says enthusiastically, popping up on his tiptoes to look above Niall’s head and pressing into Niall in the process, “I love reading this one here that’s my actual favorite, called...oh, that’s in German, I think.”

“You can read German? I’m dead impressed,” Niall hopes his fingertips aren’t too cold when he pushes them under Harry’s shirt where his coat gaps open, just resting them on the warm skin above his belt. 

“I can’t...I speak two languages.” Harry’s voice sounds strained as he cranes his neck to look around the other side of Niall. He cants his hips forward just the smallest bit, and Niall slides his index finger over one centimetre until he bumps the trail of hair just below Harry’s navel, smiles to himself when the cadence of Harry’s breathing against his chest changes drastically. 

“English,” Niall supplies, “and…” 

“The language,” Harry’s face is in front of his then, trapping Niall’s hands between them, “of _love_ , Niall. I’m quite the expert.”

Niall tries to laugh, surprised when Harry kisses him softly. It’s less sure than the other times it’s happened, and Niall wonders how long it will last. 

“Getting sick of waiting, yeah?” Harry says, not moving his lips from Niall’s to speak, and his voice cracks enough that Niall knows that this is it, that Harry’s finally ready. That there’s a question in Harry’s voice that Niall likes, makes him curl his fingers so they tuck into the waistband of Harry’s trousers, enough to know that judging from the amount of skin he’s touching, Harry’s probably not wearing pants. 

“Yeah,” Niall huffs out, using his hand to tug Harry a little closer, Harry slotting his leg between Niall’s in the exact way Niall wanted without Niall asking. 

“Yeah?” Harry’s voice sounds small and low and rough and questioning all at once, and it’s fucking terrifying to Niall how much he likes it. He laughs. “Been so long I’ve even forgotten why I was, really.”

Harry pulls back and tips his chin up just enough that he’s looking down at Niall. His eyes cross slightly when he does, and Niall starts laughing.

“Love the library,” Niall laughs again, brushing his lips against Harry’s and kissing him slowly, trying to see what Harry will do next, what Niall himself wants to do next. Harry’s tongue slides against Niall’s lower lip, and Niall flattens his palms against Harry’s stomach, feeling how the muscles jump under his skin before he slides them around to Harry’s back so he doesn’t fumble with his flies and suck him off right there. 

“Ah,” Harry breathes, pulling back and panting against Niall’s neck. He’s still gripping the shelves on either side of Niall’s head, his coat hanging open between them. When Harry traces the tip of his tongue against Niall’s neck, Niall can’t take it anymore.

“Haz,” he says, “I just, hold on --” he pushes at Harry, the two of them stumbling until Harry’s back hits the shelves behind them. Harry starts laughing, a startled look on his face.

“Niall, I like you more and more,” he gets out between bursts of laughter, Niall trying not to notice how pink his tongue looks against the white of his teeth, “every day.” When he stops laughing, he looks -- Niall’s not sure -- embarrassed, maybe? 

“Same,” Niall says helplessly. He kisses Harry again, fitting his body against Harry’s. He feels frustrated with the bulk of their layers preventing him from really pressing himself against Harry. It’s been long enough, them dancing round this thing for months. 

“Wait, wait,” Harry says, and he pushes his palms against Niall so they’re standing apart, only touching where Harry’s hands are holding Niall at arm’s length. “Not here.”

“But you brought me back here,” Niall says, confused, his dick and his brain in a fierce competition for making sense of anything. Congrats, he thinks, they’re both losers.

“It’s too…” Harry trails off, looking down and shrugging with a smile playing at the side of his mouth, “public.” 

Niall bottoms out then, thinking of the times Harry’s gone busking with him to dance in the street while he plays, or bollocks he’s talked about jobs and Nick stuff, or how Harry’s just a public person. How he’s loud, how he can’t bloody do a proper whisper. Niall’s dick is just hard enough that he’s got half a mind to try and persuade him, but then Harry meets his eyes fully and it’s too fucking much. Niall’s not sure what’s changed in Harry, exactly, but he wants to bottle it up and keep it.

“Shit,” Harry says, worrying his lip between his teeth, “our flat’s an icicle. Shit.”

“We’ve got the duvet?” Niall says, his voice making him sound like a right idiot, a half measure too hopeful. But there’s a slow smile that spreading across Harry’s face as soon as Niall says it. And. Yeah. 

“C’mon,” Harry presses a quick kiss to his lips, “we’ll leave a note on Zayn.”

**

It’s only a ten minute walk at most, but whenever they’re stopped at a crossing Harry’s hand lands somewhere on Niall’s back, and it feels like it fucking burns Niall, even through his t-shirt and jumper and jacket and Jesus, by the time they’re at the door Harry’s just shoving his hand into the back pocket of Niall’s jeans, squeezing. 

Niall drops the keys four times, swearing a little louder with each go of it while Harry laughs behind him. 

“In the lock, Niall.” The words trip out of Harry’s mouth, somewhere behind Niall’s ear. Niall’s not sure how he finally manages to get it to work, jiggling the eejit thing to get it open, the two of them bursting into the cold flat. 

“It feels colder,” Niall manages to say, feeling like he’s speaking to himself since Harry is still behind him. Still with his hand in Niall’s pocket. 

“We can warm up?” Harry asks, and when Niall turns his head to look Harry’s waggling his eyebrows up and down, pushing his tongue into his cheek. Niall starts laughing, pulling away despite Harry’s mouth sliding down into a pout as he does. 

“Buck up,” he says, walking to the bedroom, “I just want to, ya know...move things.” Niall automatically goes to his side of the bed, unsure as to where Harry will go. He doesn’t follow him, like Niall thought he would, walking over tentatively to face him instead.

“Different location,” Harry smiles at him when they’re standing on either side of the bed, duvet and blankets a jumble on top. When Niall shrugs off his jacket, Harry’s eyebrows shoot up and he nods before he slowly does the same. 

Niall’s shaking when he pulls his jumper over his head next, and he’s fifty percent sure that it’s from the cold and not how much he wants to touch Harry, who’s mirroring his movements, stripping off his own sweater, and then his t-shirt. They’ve seen each other bollocks naked loads of times, but this feels different. Bigger. 

“Um,” Niall’s hand hesitates at the button of his jeans, almost embarrassed at how at this point Harry can see just how much he wants this. 

“I’ll go first?” Harry offers in a low voice, and maybe it’s the cold air making his cheeks red, his lips flushed. He works his hilariously tight jeans over his hips, and it’s a beat later that Niall remembers what his fingertips had discovered in the library earlier. _Oh._

“Fuck,” Niall whispers, fumbling with his own flies as Harry stands there, stroking his cock lazily while he watches Niall, his arm shaking. He hops up and down lightly as he does, lip trembling in the cold.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says when Niall gets tripped up over his own feet, nearly going arse over ankles, “I’m getting in Penelope, I’m so cold, I’m so sorry.”

“Jesus fuck,” Niall says from where he is on the floor, wishing he’d kicked off his fucking trainers before trying to get his kit off, “please. Don’t get hypothermia because I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Fuuuuuuuck,” Harry says from above him on the bed, “this is not a warm option, fuck fuck fuck. Niall, can you please get up here?”

“I’m --” Niall finally works himself free, shoving his boxers down his hips as an afterthought, flinching when the cold as shit air hits his arse. “I’m like walking gooseflesh.”

“C’mere,” Harry whines, muffled since he’s entirely covered by the duvet. When Niall dives in quickly, closing the blankets around them and huffing out a breath, he finally looks at Harry, who’s curled up on himself, hair falling in his face since his beanie’s somewhere on the floor. He’s radiating warmth in the cold, so fucking cold, center of the bed, so Niall gravitates toward him naturally, shoving over until their foreheads are touching.

“Hey,” Niall says. He reaches up, pushing Harry’s hair off of his face before cupping his jaw. 

“Hey,” Harry echoes. He dips his head down and gives Niall a good look over. Niall holds his breath until Harry’s eyes flick back up to his, looking hazier under the dark fringe of his eyelashes after their trip down Niall’s body. 

“How long do we have?” Niall asks, because he wants to touch Harry, but. 

“Oh,” Harry takes Niall’s wrist in his hands and turns it slowly to look at his watch even though he’s wearing his own. His fingertips press against the band and Niall wonders if he can feel how fast Niall’s heart is beating through the cheap fabric. “Bout...an hour? Oh. Yeah.” He sounds slightly deflated. “An hour.”

“An hour’s okay,” Niall reassures him, wanting to say _we have so much more time than that, right?_. 

“Yeah.” Harry’s smile is brilliant then, and it suddenly feels like there’s a burst of light under the darkness of the duvet. “I just. I like going slow with you? Can I --” He shakes his head before he finishes the question. He closes the distance between them to kiss Niall eagerly, the slight sharpness of his teeth catching against Niall’s bottom lip.

“Ow,” Niall says into Harry’s mouth, flicking out his tongue to taste the slight metallic tang there. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry murmurs, “I just, I wanted to.” 

“‘S fine,” Niall shrugs, smiling against Harry’s hand when Harry brings it up to press his fingertips against Niall’s lips, his pinky slotting into the dimple in his chin. It makes Niall want to do something he’s been thinking of whenever he and Harry have a laugh, moving a little closer as he slots both of his thumbs into the dimples on Harry’s cheeks. He can feel them deepen as Harry seems to realize what Niall’s doing, laughing into Niall’s mouth. 

“You like those?” he asks, laughing when Niall does it again. 

“I do,” Niall says honestly, leaning forward to press his lips to one, flicking his tongue out to soothe over the crease, humming when he can hear Harry’s breath catch.

“This is a new one,” Harry whispers, “you gonna spend an hour kissing my cheek?”

“Maybe,” Niall drags his mouth against Harry’s cheek again, the slight stubble there feeling good against the chapped skin of his lips. “You gonna let me?”

“I mean,” Harry laughs, and Niall can almost forget that outside of this blanket, outside of this bed, it’s cold as fuck and Harry has to get ready to leave for a job in less than an hour, “I had something else in mind, but.”

“Like what?” Niall asks, lips hovering near Harry’s ear now, shifting and grimacing when their knees knock together painfully. “Fuck, _Christ_.” 

“Not that,” Harry says, laughing again, and then he’s moving, pushing Niall back until he’s hovering over him, “there’d be more of this.” He kisses Niall, and Niall moves into it, putting his palms flat against where he knows Harry’s swallows are by memory. He groans when Harry licks deeper into his mouth and then Harry shifts, his cock slotting into the crease of Niall’s hip, and oh. Harry’s kissing him with a lazy sort of purpose, their mouths meeting messily.

“ _Hazza_ ,” Niall tries to say, but Harry won’t stop kissing him, their foreheads knocking together awkwardly when Niall tries to pull Harry closer, making them both huff out a curse in tandem. 

“So,” Harry kisses a line across Niall’s collarbone, “there was that? That good?”

“Uh,” Niall says, “fuck. Yeah?” He scratches at Harry’s head like he was at Zayn’s earlier, but with a much, much different purpose, sighing to himself when Harry hums contentedly into his skin. 

“Time check,” Harry reaches for Niall’s wrist again, “fuck, it’s too dark, I’m--” He moves the blanket back, the rush of cold air making them both gasp as he checks the time. “Oh.”

“If I’m being entirely honest,” Niall reaches down between them where they’re slotted together, hips moving lazily, wrapping his hand around Harry’s cock and stroking once slowly to map out the feel and the weight of it, taking advantage of the light from the window to see how dark Harry’s eyes are before he closes them against the movement of Niall’s thumb pushing back his foreskin, “‘m not gonna be ages. It’s...”

“ _Fuck_.” Harry’s voice sounds shaky and more wrecked than it should, considering they’ve barely even started. Well. “Yeah. We’re gonna be fine. Kiss me.”

Niall does, starting at Harry’s neck when Harry finally pushes the duvet back over their heads, tasting the salt of his sweat there. He licks into Harry’s open mouth when he starts moving his hand with more purpose, sweeping his thumb over the head of Harry’s cock and shifting his legs so he can rut up against Harry better. Harry moves then, catching Niall’s wrist and bringing his hand up to their mouths. He pulls away so he can lick at Niall’s fingers. 

“It’ll go, uh, better,” Harry says, sheepishly, “I just want to, here.” He spits in his own hand, then finally touches Niall, everything going black for a minute in Niall’s brain when Harry’s fingers circle around his cock. It’s not quite the rhythm Niall needs, but it feels so good, and it’s _Harry_ , so he licks at his hand before reaching down to wank Harry again. He presses his lips against Harry’s neck, then his mouth, kissing him until they’re both breathing too hard to do it proper.

“This is such a,” Harry laughs, sounding breathless, “shit angle, I’m supposed to be better than this, I’m --”

“No, no, no.” Niall fears he sounds like a broken record, but Harry’s pressing his thumb to the underside of his cock and he can’t stop babbling, “you’re, it’s. Amazing.” He groans then, coming over Harry’s hand without warning. Harry works him through it until he pushes Harry’s hand away with his free hand because it’s too much, gasping and almost saying something he really shouldn’t when Harry groans, teeth sharp against Niall’s shoulder as he comes. 

There’s a half beat where Niall is sure he’s going to suffocate, it’s so warm under the blanket, but then Harry reaches over and pokes his hand out the side, letting in just enough air that they’re both able to catch their breath. There’s a mess between them they’ll have to worry about later, but Niall honestly gives no fucks, and Harry must not either because he shoves over and fits his head under Niall’s chin, half sprawled on top of them with his chest pressed to Niall’s side. Niall’s heartbeat speeds up again, giving him away, and Harry laughs. 

“Next time,” Harry says, breath warm against Niall’s skin, “I wanted to feel this.”

“What?” Niall asks, letting his fingers trail down Harry’s spine, liking that it feels like Harry melts into him further, tangling their legs together even more. He likes how Harry said _next time_.

“ _This_ ,” Harry’s taps his fingers against Niall’s chest, “it sounds cool. I don’t know. I like it.”

And Niall is just. He’s so _fucked_.

&&&

When Zayn opens his eyes, he’s so warm that he’s sweating a bit, and the first thing he sees is the speckled ceiling of the library he knows entirely too well. The ceiling he associates with things that are over now. Things that he’s fine with. His heart speeds up anyway, just for long enough to help him reorient himself. 

The library. He’s near the door. Niall and Haz are around, somewhere. At least, Niall isn’t next to him anymore, covering up that he’s mooning about Haz like he’s dying over it. Zayn figures it won’t be much longer, that Haz looks at Niall the same way he looks at a baby they pass on the street, his eyes brightening up like the sun just came out after loads of rain.

But Zayn also knows how Haz takes getting used to, how he’s so open and affectionate that it might be rubbish to figure out what’s up and what’s down. And that even after months, Niall’s still playing catch up, like. And Zayn’s tried to tell him that, in his own way. 

Zayn feels like he’s ready for a change, like, but he just doesn’t know how to start something new. Or if he even can. Because what if this shit thing is all he’s good at, all he’s meant for? He knows it’s not true, but what if it is? He shifts on the sofa, clutching at his chest when something flutters under his chin. It’s a crumpled up Tesco’s receipt covered with Harry’s exaggerated print.

_Z, N and I making like banana and splitting. Ha! xxx-H_

_ps DON’T COME TO FLAT FOR A FEW_

Zayn laughs loud enough that someone clears their throat nearby. Right. He remembers where he is, swinging his legs down and forcing himself to sit upright. There’s an older lady sitting where Niall was earlier, flipping through a book and smiling at him when he glances at his phone and sighs. He’s got no clue as to when those two idiots left, so he’s pretty well fucked for going back to the flat at the moment. Not that he wants to. It’s been almost a year now since he moved in with Harry and this is the first time he’s forgotten to remind him about paying shit on time. The first time he’s woken up to cold air since the last night he spent in the car with Lou. He’s spent so much time at Liam’s flat lately that he didn’t realize it was past due.

He feels like a bit of a twat for not offering to go out a little extra tonight. Or go out at all. Haz likes going out with Nick, though. Even if more often than not lately they get up to weird stuff that Hazza still just shrugs at, “oh, it was fine, he really liked it. I laughed.” Zayn hopes he means it. He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about it more and more. Doesn’t matter. 

The fluorescent bulbs overhead flicker, and it’s enough to make Zayn want to bolt immediately; escape. He feels like he’s crawling out of his own skin. He’s already shoving a cigarette between his lips as he’s on his way out, earning a glower from the librarian at the desk by the door. 

“I’m leaving,” he mutters, adjusting his collar against the wind he knows is coming the second he steps outside. He ducks around the corner into a small brick niche between the buildings so he can light up his cig proper, his hands shaking against the wind. It takes a couple goes before it sparks, and he takes a long drag as he drops the zippo back into his pocket, exhaling and fumbling for his gloves, wishing he hadn’t cut off the fingertips. 

Pulling out his phone, Zayn thumbs at the buttons, deciding to call Liam to see if he’s done with work yet. It’s been a day since they spoke, and Zayn knows that it makes Liam feel better when Zayn checks in. He whinges about it when Liam really gets on him if it’s been longer than that, but it also makes Zayn feel, like, relieved. Solid, like. And he will never bloody tell Liam that, though Liam would have to be pretty thick to not know by now. How much he misses him, all the time. 

“Zayn!” Liam’s voice floods over the line, sounding warm, and Zayn turns his head away from the street when he smiles. “What’s it, then?”

“You home yet?” Zayn asks right away, a chill making the tips of his ears ache where they’re exposed. 

“Not at the mo,” Zayn can hear the smile in Liam’s voice, ”but I’m on my way. Just finishing up a few things, here.” 

“You still on the job?” Only Liam would answer Zayn’s call when he’s bloody working. 

“No,” Liam says immediately, then after a pause, “yeah. It’s nearly over, though. You should come round.”

“What time?” 

“If you could do me a massive favor and go now,” there’s a lot of background noise now, but Liam’s tone is still relaxed and easy, calming like. “Take Loki out for me?”

“Of course.” Zayn’s already turning the corner, figuring he can afford the tube to get across to Liam’s. “I can be there in ‘bout twenty?”

“Thanks, babe. And Zayn?” 

“Yeah?” Zayn pauses on the corner, taking a long drag to finish up his cigarette before he goes under.

“Sorry I’m a bit low on food, haven’t been to the shops in ages, I was going tonight anyway for our dinner tomorrow. I’ll stop on my way, yeah?” Liam sounds apologetic. If he was in front of Zayn right now, Zayn would probably cuff his ear for being a prat.

“Sounds good.”

**

There’s something familiar about letting himself into Liam’s flat and having Loki run up to him immediately, his tail wagging so hard his whole body moves. Something about how it feels almost no different than Liam’s big smile whenever Zayn comes over. 

“You don’t like the cold much either, eh?” Zayn asks Loki when he’s turning to get back to the entryway as soon as he’s done, looking up at Zayn and turning around like he can’t stand having all his paws on the ground at once. Zayn laughs, his breath pooling out in front of him, as he squats down, picking Loki up carefully and holding him against his side, earning a lick to the side of his neck in the process. 

After they’re both back in, Zayn giving Loki an extra treat just because he can and no one’s watching to call him a right pushover, Zayn shrugs out of his jacket and pulls out his phone, texting Liam that he’s there and Loki’s good. He takes his time unlacing his boots and easing them off, Loki whining at him from where he’s curled up on the sofa. 

“Alright, alright, I’m coming.” Zayn gets up and settles next to him, Loki poking his head under Zayn’s arm to come and rest on his thigh. When the dog sighs, it’s the most contented thing Zayn’s heard in ages. He drops his arm back to scratch between Loki’s ears, leaning forward carefully to see if Liam’s left any new comics out on the coffee table. There’s a Spider-Man Zayn knows he read last time he was there, but it was a good one, great illustrations, so he sets it by his side to flip through again, sorting through the rest of the stack, pausing when he sees his name. 

It's a courses listing for the Open University, the kind he remembers his mum tossing whenever they came in the mail so the girls couldn't sit there and make fun of things like "Understanding Global Heritage" or some shit. In the corner is his name; Zayn's seen enough of Liam's writing to know that he took his time shaping the letters carefully: 

_ZAYN - This came in the post!!! -Liam x_

Under that, Liam's circled some of the courses, Zayn wishing he'd brought his glasses with him to see, holding it closer to read. It's all art or design courses, some of them starred, some of them with a bloody smiley face inked next to them.

He would be well annoyed if it weren’t for the image he has in his head of Liam reading it over carefully one evening in front of the TV, Loki asleep next to him while he marked it over with Zayn in mind. Tossed it there and waited until he’d see Zayn again. Zayn squints, checking the postmark; it was only a couple days ago. 

Giving it one last look, Zayn places it back on the table, reaching for the comic again instead. He settles deeper into the well-worn cushions, balancing the volume on his thighs so he can flip through and still keep a hand on Loki. He feels warm.

**

“Zayn?” Liam’s voice comes to Zayn through a foggy haze, and Zayn shifts when he feels Liam’s hand solid on his shoulder, squeezing slightly. “Oi, babe, you tired?”

“Well,” Zayn grunts, opening his eyes, “if I fell asleep, then yeah. I was tired.”

Liam laughs easily. “You need a nap? Go on and use the bed, Loki’ll probably be grateful to join you.”

“I‘m good.” Zayn sits up, cracking his neck from the odd angle he nodded off at. “You just get in?”

“Yeah, mostly.” Liam bends down to scratch at Loki’s back, Loki rolling over immediately to expose his chest. “Changed and put away what I got at the shop before I woke you.”

“Get anything good?” Zayn asks, leaning forward to take a pull from the beer Liam’s put on the table for him already. He pushes up after, kissing Liam a soft hello before he can answer. He pulls Liam down so they’re tangled together on the sofa, snogging him deeper while Liam makes soft noises that drive Zayn mad, knows that the longer they do this the louder Liam will get. He palms the back of Liam’s head, brushing his fingertips over the softness of his hair there, letting his thumb run along the edge of Liam’s ear where it’s shortest. Zayn can’t help it how his mouth curls up into a grin at the feel of it, and Liam pulls back a short distance when he does, his breathing gone off like he’s about to start laughing. He kisses the side of Zayn’s mouth softly a few times before Zayn can control himself enough to snog him full on again, dropping his hand down to Liam’s side.

“Yeah, there are some Twisters in the deep freeze,” Liam finally fully laughs when Zayn pulls away a few minutes later, making a face because Loki keeps jumping up on them, “but I thought I’d do some fajitas tonight.”

“Twister now, fajitas later,” Zayn watches Liam’s eyes crinkle up as he speaks, “you’re smashing it, Liam.”

“And then more Twisters later, right?” Liam teases gently, and Zayn bites his lip so he won’t say anything ridiculous. How his chest swells with things, sometimes. When he’s warm and there’s good food in his future and he’s not thinking about the rest of his life at the moment. When he’s around Liam, most of all. 

“Hope you stocked up,” Zayn says after a minute, fingers toying with the collar of Liam’s top. 

“Course. Want me to bring you one?” Liam stands back up, adjusting himself and stepping over into the kitchen before Zayn answers. 

“I’m coming,” Zayn calls out, carefully extricating himself from the sofa, picking the comic up from where it’s fallen on the floor to put it on the table. Pausing, Zayn runs his fingers over the course catalog before picking it up and carrying it with him to the kitchen. He leans on the counter, watching Liam get out some pans. 

“Help yourself,” Liam says over his shoulder, and Zayn looks down at the catalog again. 

“Found this,” Zayn starts, the hot flare of guilt immediate. “Was looking for something to read, like. And just, found this.”

“Found what?” Liam asks, and when he turns Zayn holds it up, waving it a little in the air. “Oh, proper great! Did you give it a look over?” He’s immediately excited, is the thing. Like he’s glad Zayn found it. 

“I did,” Zayn smoothes it out on the counter. “But who says I need to?”

“No one,” Liam walks over, pointing at the courses circled, “but I thought you might, you know, quite like a look. These seemed like ones you’d do well at, you know?” 

“Liam,” Zayn says as a warning. 

“It’s just seemed like,” Liam says, shrugging, “lately, maybe you want to make a move? This could be a proper go at doing that?”

“Dunno,” Zayn says. He thinks about going for classes, about not going out at night. Thinks about the sad face Haz’ll pull if he did. What Niall would do. How he’d pay. 

“Something to think about, at least.” Liam pushes the catalog closer to Zayn. “Take it.”

“Need a new ashtray,” Zayn nods, laughing, “it’ll go to good use.”

“Okay okay, don’t get smart.” Liam laughs, “you know, you’d make more money and it’d be so much less of the hard starts if you --”

“If I just go on gigs with you,” Zayn finishes, knowing Liam’s argument by heart at this point, keeping his voice in as dry as he can. 

“Okay,” Liam looks at him, his face serious for a moment. “I know I’m on about it all the time, but I know how much you --”

“You just told me a month ago how you spent a half day walking some bloke around on a leash,” Zayn interrupts before Liam can say any more. 

“Yeah, but I made 500 quid. For basically walking around a human Loki.” Liam laughs. “It was quite weird though. But those jobs aren’t too often. Never, really. And still better, I would think, than, you know.”

“Better,” Zayn repeats, as far as he’ll go to agree with what Liam’s saying. 

“Anyway,” Liam turns again, opening the fridge to pull out a few bags, “invite Harry and Niall, alright?” 

“Alright,” Zayn pulls out his phone, grateful that Liam’s seemed to let it rest. For now. 

** 

“I’m ready for thirds,” Niall speaks with his mouth full, and Zayn is barely able to understand him. “But I don’t want to eat all of what’s left.”

“There’s some warm on the stove for him,” Liam smiles, nudging the bottle of mayonnaise closer to Niall, “so go ahead. Quite the appetite tonight, Niall.” 

He grins over at Zayn, who does his best not to snicker. Niall’d shown up in the best mood Zayn’s seen him in ever, his cheeks pinked up and Zayn was pretty sure it wasn’t from the wind, babbling on about how the flat’s not that bad, they could probably sleep there. 

Liam had been a bit of a shit to Zayn for not telling him once Niall explained; he had said immediately that they’d all stay there, no arguments, shut your mouth Zayn, Niall shrugging and helping himself to a Twister before he’d sat on the floor to play with Loki. 

“You know what’s great?” Niall asks brightly, already swallowing his last bite before he drops his fork on the plate with a clang. He answers before Zayn has a chance, Liam already distracted with clearing off the table. “How it’s just really fucking warm in here.” He tugs at the back of his jumper, pulling it off and causing his already mussed up hair to go even more mad. Zayn notices a mark on Niall’s collarbone, dark against his fair skin.

“It is,” Zayn says, Liam making a satisfied sound in the kitchen as Zayn leans over to poke his finger at the mark on Niall. The second his finger makes contact, Niall makes a face, batting at Zayn’s hand, his cheeks flushing up again. 

“Oi,” Niall cranes his neck around, trying to look down, “don’t.” He tugs at the neckline of his top until Zayn can’t see it anymore. 

“Have a good afternoon?” Zayn asks, keeping his voice low so Liam won’t overhear in the kitchen. 

“It was.” Niall looks down then, considering, and Zayn knows the look on his face because he’s felt it before; when all you want to do is grin your bloody face off but you don’t know if it’s safe. How it usually isn’t. 

“Right. Sorted.” Zayn squeezes at Niall’s knee under the table, feels how bony it is, wills the moment to pass. Niall grins at him after a moment, looking more like himself, and Zayn exhales.

“Right then, if one of you two dries up, then we can put on _Iron Man_ ,” Liam calls out, the calming happiness of his voice soothing over anything Zayn was feeling. 

Both Zayn and Niall get up, each taking a flannel and creating an assembly line of sorts, getting it all done in no time. Zayn watches Liam carefully wrap up a serving of fajitas for Harry, setting it on the back of the stove to keep warm, and he has to shake his head in order to not think about Liam, about the courses. He pauses and sets down the pan he’s holding to drop a quick kiss on the back of Liam’s neck, Liam turning to grin at him after. 

“We did a proper good job dusting up,” Liam says, slinging an arm around Niall and Zayn both. “Lads night in.” Zayn doesn’t have to look over at him to know that Liam’s grinning so hard his eyes are crinkling up at the corners.

“Bagsy the sofa tonight,” Niall laughs, and Zayn allows himself to relax into Liam’s side a bit, Liam’s hand coming up to wrap around Zayn’s waist.

“Bagsy Liam’s bed,” Zayn jokes, because Niall’s already looking flushed. 

“Loki’ll be pleased you’re staying, Niall, think he gets a bit sick of Zayn and me all the time.” Liam smiles at him, and Zayn thinks about how soft Liam’s sheets are instead of the soft skin of Liam’s finger, rubbing at his hip. He feels almost bad, for how he suddenly wishes Niall wasn’t there.

“Lads,” Niall’s already collapsed into the corner of the sofa, “are we gonna start the film?”

“Oh!” Liam starts toward the DVD player, “I’ll put it in.”

**

They’re already halfway through _Iron Man 2_ when Harry walks in, stumbling enough that it startles Zayn out of his half sleep, Niall blinking hard on the other end of the sofa. Liam’d gone off to bed after the first film was over, telling them to go on because he was knackered, but Zayn could tell that Niall was going to stay up until Haz was back, so he resolved to at least...be next to him while he did that, feeling too exhausted in his bones to really talk, Niall keeping up a running commentary on the film next to him. 

“Lads,” Harry climbs between them, dropping a sloppy kiss on the top of Zayn’s head before slumping so he’s leaning on Niall. He rests his hand almost delicately high on Niall’s thigh, moving slow like he’s asking permission, and it’s a gesture that feels so intimate to Zayn that he feels uncomfortable. He wants to go climb into bed with Liam immediately.

“Liam left a plate for you on the stove,” Niall says, and Zayn watches him tangle a hand lazily in Harry’s curls. Niall lowers his voice when he asks, “how did it go?”

“Great, is how it went, because look,” Harry digs his hand deep into his pocket, popping his foot up on Zayn’s knee to get more leverage, before tossing a wad of notes on the table. “Heat. Well, the promise of heat.”

“Eat, Haz.” Zayn says, standing up. Harry’s back, he can go to sleep. Niall’s got it covered. 

“Not hungry,” Haz shakes his head, turning to Niall, “Niall, you want it?”

“Could do,” Niall laughs, and Zayn wonders if Niall notices just how pissed Harry is. He puts it out of his mind, though, because Harry buries his face in Niall’s neck before Zayn’s even out of the room, walking softly down the hall and edging Liam’s door open. 

There’s a pair of trackies folded at the end of the bed, Zayn’s second favorite ones. It makes him pause for a second, looking down at Liam, sleeping curled into a ball with an open look on his face. Zayn changes as quietly as he dares, his belt making enough of a noise on the floor that Liam’s blinking up at him sleepily when he pushes in next to him.

“Harry get in?” Liam asks, and Zayn nods. “Alright then. You good with those? Yours are in the wash, soz babe.” 

“No, these are good. Thanks, Liam.” Zayn’s tired enough that he’s not really angling for a shag, so he leans forward, kissing Liam square between the eyes. Liam makes a surprised noise, sounds slow like he’s still half asleep. 

“Zayn?” Liam doesn’t sound confused, just questioning. 

“Thanks, Liam.” Zayn says again, trailing his finger down the line of Liam’s forearm along the dark ink, stopping to tap at Liam’s elbow. He thinks again about the courses, Liam drawing a line of smiley faces.

“Zayn?” Liam asks again, but Zayn’s already closing his eyes as he tucks his head into Liam’s neck, pressing a kiss there and keeping his hand on Liam’s arm as he drifts under. 

&&&

Harry tries to open the flat door as quietly as he can because it’s nearly half one and Zayn had told him if he wakes him up again he’d move to the first place that will have him. At the time, Harry had laughed, but Zayn’s eyes were a touch too serious for Harry to feel entirely comfortable, enough so that he still hasn’t forgotten. Especially now that Zayn’s spending half his nights at Liam’s anyway, Harry missing him even despite Niall. 

It’s dark when he finally gets in, darker than usual, and as his eyes adjust Harry realizes that Zayn’s tacked up the black sheet like he does sometimes. The neon sign outside their window must be blinking again. Harry can almost see it through the fabric, casting faint shadows that dance along the walls. Or maybe his eyes are just used to it now, standing stock still and blinking slowly so he can see where he’s going, not crash over something and ruin his flawless effort with the door. Once he’s got his bearings about as much as he’ll ever have, he picks his way across the floor, poking his head in the bathroom and grabbing what he’s 90% certain is his toothbrush, brushing quickly and thoroughly. He hopes Niall is still awake.

Harry’s been trying to be better about the late nights, is all. But it’s been hard since the heat got cut off a few weeks ago because he’s been trying to store it up, doing more, staying out more, letting Nick set him up with his friends. Just in case. He doesn’t want a repeat of that morning where it was too cold to do yoga, where it took Zayn nearly an hour to emerge from the blankets, just a disembodied voice yelling at him that he was a twat. And Niall padding out from the bedroom, so cold his lips were a shade of blue just a little bit paler than his eyes. 

It wasn’t a big deal. Harry had called Nick up from the bath after he saw how Niall looked, promised him a full night, promised him he’d wear those boots covered with glitter Nick liked and not much else. 

He’d thought about Niall the whole time. Had been a bit rubbish, really, Nick complaining until Harry was able to focus. And not struck dumb thinking about Niall’s fingers warming up on his skin, how it felt when Niall touched him, when he got too awkward by half and tasted Niall’s blood on his tongue. 

Niall’s just a distraction, a constant. And Harry’s used to being easily distracted, but rarely by the same thing twice. But it’s been Niall, again and again. He’s still working it out. How to handle it. He thought he’d be ace at it by now, after all the months it took to finally get it started.

When Harry walks into the room, Niall’s asleep already. They all went out tonight, even Niall had a gig with Liam across town, but Zayn and Niall are always back ages before Harry.

Niall snuffles a little in his sleep when Harry climbs in next to him, avoiding the very urgent need to curl around him, something building up in his stomach. It’s an unspoken thing, really, how they don’t touch each other, don’t get off, on the days when Harry’s going out. Harry’s not sure how they’ve gotten into that pattern in just a few weeks since it all really started, but maybe it’s something in Niall’s eyes. He knows Niall doesn’t care what he does, but Harry doesn’t want to chance it.

“Nialler,” Harry whispers, tracing his finger along the low neckline of Niall’s t-shirt, where the hair on his chest curls over a little. It feels soft. Harry doesn’t get it, how it looks like it might be coarse, rough. It’s one of his favorite things to rest his cheek on. Relaxing. 

“What time ‘s it?” Niall mumbles, not opening his eyes. There must be some clouds that move then, or something, because there’s a light that shifts in the room, and Harry can see that Niall’s hair is still damp and laying flat against his head. Harry pushes forward a little further, nuzzling at Niall’s neck and breathing deeply, taking in how Niall smells like Harry’s favorite soap. There’s something about it that makes Harry feel uneven, how he used to be able to come in from a night out and just collapse boneless on the bed. He pulls back.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispers, Niall breathing steadily. “I’m going for a quick wash.”

**

Niall’s half sitting up when Harry tiptoes back into the room, his hair a mess like he’s been running his hands through it the whole time Harry was out, his eyes tired. 

“Glad I heard the shower,” he says, his accent taking on that thick quality it does at night, the one that flips something in Harry, like he’s switched on all the way, on edge. “Otherwise I’d think I was dreaming things.”

“Sorry,” Harry shakes his head vigorously, trying to get most of the water out before he gets in bed. “I felt like...just wanted a quick one.” 

“And you went for a proper shampoo, I approve,” Niall laughs, his gaze finally settling on where Harry’s got the towel knotted about his hips. “C’mere.”

Harry does without saying anything, gripping the towel in his fist as he settles next to Niall, rewarded when Niall laughs before he kisses him, loud enough that Harry claps a hand over his mouth.

“You know I love to hear you,” Harry ignores how Niall’s started tracing his palm with the tip of his tongue, “but I don’t wanna wake up Zayn and then he’ll, you know, move out.”

“Mmmph,” Niall mumbles, his eyebrows expressive enough that Harry thinks he’s telling him Zayn would never even think of such a thing. He does that thing with his tongue again, and Harry’s not sure how much longer he can --

“I’m so happy you woke up,” he whispers, his lips against his own hand, before he drops it and kisses Niall, who’s laughing again. Niall laughing into his mouth might be Harry’s favorite thing. Along with a lot of other stuff. Just. Things. Niall comes with a lot of stuff and things. 

“You woke me up,” Niall grumbles when Harry pulls back enough to take a breath, but it’s a for show grumble, Harry knows, since Niall’s saying it as he tugs his shirt over his head, reaching for Harry’s towel even before his lips hit Harry’s neck. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” Harry slides one finger into the waistband of Niall’s pants, waits for the sharp intake of breath, but Niall arches his hips away instead, pushing at Harry’s hands.

“No no,” he’s not even touching Harry yet, just running his finger over Harry’s hip, scraping his nail against the _might as well_ etched there. “Still not fully awake, so as soon as I come I’ll be rubbish. Not fair.”

“You’re so kind, Niall,” Harry says it sincerely, but his breath catches and his words sound funny to his own ears. 

Sometimes he wishes that Niall had some ink of his own, just sometimes. Like now, when there’s so much of Niall to touch and it’s all smooth and pale and he needs that distraction, that thing to focus on. He settles for biting gently into the skin of Niall’s chest and soothing his tongue over the bite mark. It makes it easier. 

“You biting bastard,” Niall laughs, holding up his hand for Harry to run his tongue over before he’s easing his thigh between Harry’s for leverage, rocking up to lick into Harry’s mouth as he wraps his hand around Harry’s cock, moving torturously slow. Harry tries to buck up his hips, to give Niall a clue, but Niall drapes himself over Harry instead, his weight holding him down. Niall’s still laughing.

“I‘m gonna,” Niall moves his hand a little faster before slowing down again to almost a full stop, his thumb pressing in small, slow circles over the head of Harry’s cock. It’s maddening. “I tried to stay up, you know?” 

“I know,” Harry ineffectually tries to roll and gain advantage, not to overtake Niall or make him wank him properly, but because he suddenly wants to lay full out, touch as much of himself to as much of Niall as possible. Just to see how it feels. 

“Missed you,” Niall’s smile is bright in the room, and then he’s ducking his head down and huffing a laugh against Harry’s neck, “I sound like a broody bastard, I’m just.” He shifts his weight, and Harry feels the release, feels himself fuck up into Niall’s tight fist in a sloppy rhythm. He can’t help it. Just like he can’t help how he’s coming almost immediately, it hitting him hard, the shock of it grounding him into how Niall’s working him through it, mumbling something Harry can’t make out against the skin of his shoulder. 

“I...it’s late.” Harry says, wondering why a quick wank has him spinning, why a few weeks of barely more than that is too much. He grabs the towel with shaky hands, cleaning them both off. It feels like it takes Niall forever to answer, Harry taking deep breaths to reorient himself. 

“‘tis late.” Niall whispers finally, and it pricks up all the way down Harry’s back. He pushes at Niall’s shoulders, settling himself so he’s sitting astride Niall’s thighs. 

“Permission?” Harry asks, hooking his fingers into Niall’s pants and laughing when Niall grins up at him, throwing his arm over his eyes. “Hey, quit it.” He tugs Niall’s pants down his hips then, reaching up to poke at his elbow until he moves it, looking down at Harry. “You don’t wanna miss this.”

“Pretty sure I’m not missing it.” Niall’s eyes are the darkest blue Harry’s seen yet, him making a mental note of that fact before he scoots down, swirling his tongue around the head of Niall’s cock before ducking down, taking the rest in shallowly before glancing up to make sure Niall’s looking. He is.

Harry never thinks about stuff he’s done on jobs unless it was weird or funny or a good story. And he’s not thinking about earlier, how he’d looked down or straight ahead, how it took him three extra to make the number he wanted because no one gave him big tips. 

Harry’s only thinking about now, especially when Niall slides his fingers into Harry’s hair, slowing the bob of Harry’s head. Harry reaches up and catches Niall’s other hand, slotting their fingers together over Niall’s chest. He does that thing with his tongue to the underside of Niall’s cock that makes Niall’s heartbeat so erratic under their tangled hands it makes Harry feel like he’s going mad.

So maybe that’s Harry’s favorite thing. He can’t decide. 

**

“Where we off to tonight?” Harry asks, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt and leaning against Nick’s counter. He unbuttons two extra, not sure if how it’s bloody see through is enough (Zayn couldn’t stop laughing at him when he came out to leave tonight, had asked Harry if he wanted him to turn off the light and protect his modesty). Nick turns from where he’s rooting around in a drawer for a corkscrew, flicking his eyes down over Harry’s chest appreciatively before he grins, his mouth taking up most of his face. 

“Nowhere,” he winks, tossing the corkscrew on the counter, “fancy a white?”

“Um, sure,” Harry blinks, remembering to self-correct, “yeah, sounds lovely.” He drops his voice and steps closer to Nick, letting his fingers trail along the counter while he watches Nick uncork the bottle. “Not sure if there was an opening, somewhere, a do to go to.”

“There’s always a do,” Nick nudges his hip against Harry’s, “but I’m feeling rather like a quiet night in.”

“Mhmm,” Harry murmurs, realizing that his fingers have drifted back to his shirt buttons, doing one back up. He chuckles to himself, wondering what his problem even is. With Nick, it’s usually easy. He likes Nick, even if Nick ends the night by tucking a wad of notes into Harry’s back pocket, always folded over neatly. It makes Harry feel like he’s really helping someone, taking care by doing something he’s well good at. 

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Nick’s voice is loud to Harry as they stand in the kitchen, Nick pressing a glass into Harry’s hand. “This a new option on the menu? The strong and silent experience?”

He’s smiling, so Harry knows it’s still okay. He also knows that there’s money on the line. It’s startling, how Nick was a good bloke, someone a bit lonely even though he’s surrounded by people, and now he’s sort of...a job, in a way. He’s still a good bloke, still sort of a mate, but. These are always the easier ones, the ones Harry likes. At least, he’s pretty sure he still does.

“Maybe you’re just talking too much,” Harry deliberately takes a slightly messy sip of wine, taking the time to lick it from his lower lip before it runs down his chin. 

Nick stares at him for a long moment, swallowing hard. “Perhaps,” he finally allows, and when Harry glances down Nick’s gripping his glass so hard his knuckles have gone white. 

“So,” Harry takes another sip, watching Nick over the rim of the glass, “what exactly did you want to do _in_?”

“Bit of telly, maybe. Something...relaxing.” Nick downs his glass in a solid pull, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down like he’s suddenly nervous to be around Harry. 

“What a plan,” Harry turns slowly, trying to force his feet into something other than his clumsy rhythm when he walks down the hall to Nick’s bedroom, where his only TV is. He’s already sprawled out on the bed and thumbing at the buttons on the remote when Nick walks in, his glass refilled near to the top. 

“Celebrity Big Brother, really?” Nick groans, settling in next to Harry up at the headboard. When Harry glances over, he can see that Nick’s set his glass on the bedside table, using a neatly folded stack of notes as a coaster. That’s Nick. He’s prepared. 

“Nothing’s on,” Harry shrugs, and then Nick’s face is next to his, Nick’s chin grazing Harry’s cheek. 

“I’ll allow it.” Nick pauses, nosing at Harry’s cheek again, and Harry turns his head slightly to look cross-eyed at Nick. Nick tips his head up to brush his lips against Harry’s.

The overwhelming urge to pull away hits Harry very hard and very sudden, so much so that he has to swallow against it, taking a deep breath he tries to mask as a gasp. Nick takes that as an invitation, his tongue dragging against Harry’s lower lip to gain better access at the same time his hand lands on Harry’s thigh, squeezing gently. 

_Niall._

Bloody fucking hell, Harry thinks, shifting his hips closer to Nick on the bed, hoping he won’t realize that Harry’s having a moment or breakdown or episode or whatever it could be called, really. It’s unprofessional, is what it is, the mere thought of _professionalism_ breaking up the moment enough that Harry’s able to pull back to take a breath and laugh. He feels like his chest can expand again. 

“Nick, I --” Harry starts, reaching up a hand to land on Nick’s hip, the bone sharp enough under Harry’s palm that he can fully reorient himself to where he is and what he’s doing.

“No no,” Nick grins, brushing his lips against Harry’s again. “Strong and silent, right? Don’t make me send back my order.”

“Of course.” Harry swallows against the feeling building in his throat. “Though we’ll see about the strong part. And the silent bit.” He laughs. He thinks it sounds normal.

Nick laughs, his hand tugging at Harry’s shirt. “C’mon now,” he prods at Harry’s side with his fingertips, and Harry realizes what he’s trying at, feeling stupidly grateful as he flips onto his stomach. He presses himself down into the bed and concentrates on the movement of Nick’s hands on his back. 

**

It’s early enough when Harry gets back that Zayn is still awake, sprawled out on the sofa with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He’s got some catalogue he’s looking over with his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, a book open face down on his stomach. It’s too dark in the flat; Harry doesn’t know how Zayn’s even seeing anything. 

“I see how it is when we’re not in,” Harry says, walking over to crack the window enough to get some fresh air in but not freeze up the place, though they’ve finally gotten past the worst part of the winter deep freeze. “Thought it was an agreement.”

“Never noticed before,” Zayn shrugs, a slow smile tugging at his mouth when Harry looks over at him. He folds the catalogue, placing it carefully in the middle of the book before he reaches down to slide it under the sofa. 

“What’re you reading?” Harry reaches into his back pocket, tossing the night’s pay on the table. Nick had been half asleep when Harry gathered up his clothes, mumbling at Harry nonsensically when he tucked it in Harry’s pocket. 

“Something Liam gave me, it’s nothing.” Zayn makes a face at Harry when Harry shoves at Zayn’s legs so he can sit on the sofa, pulling them back into his lap once he’s settled. Zayn’s shins are hard under his palms, the bones small feeling to Harry. Zayn feels delicate to him sometimes. 

“You’re clearly loving every word of it.” When Zayn moves his lips slowly at that, producing a careful smoke ring in Harry’s direction, Harry laughs. He reaches out his hand, drawing his index finger down to slice through the smoke in the air. 

“Ruining my hard work,” Zayn sighs, dropping his hand down to ash out his cigarette in his mug. He doesn’t light another, looking over at Harry pointedly and holding out his empty hands, palms up. 

“Thanks Zayner,” Harry drums his fingers on Zayn’s leg, “any more carcinogens in here and it’d ruin the feng shui of the room for yoga tomorrow morning.”

“You’re such a twat,” Zayn laughs, swiping his hand half-heartedly at Harry’s shoulder. “Was only having a few before anyone was home, like always.”

“Gonna ignore the always part,” Harry looks over at his silent phone where he dropped it on the table. “You heard from Nialler?”

“Nope,” Zayn shakes his head, “haven’t seen him since I got back from Liam’s this morning.”

“Oh.” Harry doesn’t know why he feels unsettled; he knows that Niall’s working a double at the pub. He just misses him, he supposes. It was a weird night.

“Why?” Zayn’s brow furrows immediately, confusion clouding his features, “wait, was he going out? Liam didn’t say anything. I thought he was at the pub?”

“No no,” Harry cuts Zayn off, squeezing at Zayn’s leg. “He is, and he and I don’t normally...he knows I was out at Nick’s. So it’s not a big deal. I was just wondering.”

“Alright,” Zayn shifts his legs so the sharp bone of his ankle presses into Harry’s stomach. “Which, you’re back early. Was Nick’s okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry exhales, letting a smile fill out his face, evening out. “Pretty quiet night, no big event or anything.”

“No good story, how disappointing.” Zayn’s tone is sarcastic, but he’s smiling so Harry lets it slide. 

“Pretty quick night,” Harry stretches and shakes his hair out, feeling like he’s popping back into place, “had a glass of wine and he fucked me, then he wanted to sleep.”

“Low key.” Zayn looks like he’s about to say something, but then he exhales instead, that steady sound that Harry’s gotten used to. 

“Question,” Harry feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and he rubs his hands over Zayn’s legs until Zayn squirms, knocking his foot against Harry’s stomach again. “How do you not, you know, kiss them?”

“Them?” Zayn’s eyebrows shoot up, and Harry remembers their conversation, ages and ages ago, before Zayn became this fixture in his life. Before he became Zayn. “Dunno. I just...don’t do it, you know?”

“I’m not talking about like, a quick go,” Harry struggles to place his words, feeling out of sorts, “but more...a regular job.”

“Don’t have many of those,” Zayn says thoughtfully, Harry fighting the urge to smooth out the crease in his brow, “but even then, I just never started. If you don’t start, they don’t expect it.”

“Oh,” Harry had figured it might work out something like that. Bollocks. “I just, Nick tonight, he kissed me and it felt...I don’t know, but I didn’t like how it felt.”

“Because of Niall?” Zayn asks it softly, and Harry realizes that in the month or so since it all started Zayn’s been silent on the subject, at least with Harry. Like he expected it, walking in the apartment the week before to Harry having Niall pushed up against the fridge because Niall had made a dumb joke about orange juice that swelled up Harry’s insides funny. Zayn had just said hello in his normal voice then, dropping his jacket on the floor before settling in at the kitchen table with the takeaway he’d brought. When Harry thinks about it, though, maybe there have been a lot more nights at Liam’s, loads more than usual. But that might be for reasons other than like. The time Harry made Niall make that noise. 

“Yeah,” Harry tries to collect his thoughts for a moment, “I guess I didn’t expect that Niall and I would change how everything else goes?” He looks over at Zayn then, questioning, and waits for Zayn to answer.

“Feelings don’t affect just the one part of your brain, like,” Zayn says slowly, “and I think when it’s such a big bloody thing, it’s gonna make a difference.”

“A big bloody thing,” Harry echoes, thinking about Niall, about his laugh. About how he chews on his thumbnail when he’s thinking about a song he’s working on. About how his mouth feels.

“If I wasn’t dead inside,” Zayn snorts, “I’d think it’s disgusting.”

“You’re not dead inside, just wilted for a bit. And you’re pretty disgusting yourself now that you’ve got Liam, so don’t start.” Harry laughs when Zayn makes a face, even though he’s still feeling off kilter. “I guess I just don’t know the best way to say to jobs like Nick, _there’s an Irishman I fancy, my lips are a no go zone_.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it sorted to me,” Zayn shrugs, a smirk on his face, “so, Niall.”

“Yeah, Niall,” Harry hears the sigh in his voice, “he’s the one I was referring to.”

“I mean,” Zayn quirks up an eyebrow, his smile overtaking his face, “how’s that going? Is it huge, Harry? You getting it in? Does he sing during?”

“Well,” Harry takes a moment to consider, “we’ve actually been pretty slow, because it doesn’t feel right to me to have a go when I’ve been out. It’s been great, though, Niall found this one spot on my cock I never even knew existed, right, like right at the base, and when he presses his thumb there you wouldn’t believe --”

“Stop,” Zayn groans. When Harry looks up he’s covering his eyes with his hand. “Jesus. I wanted the opposite of this.”

“You asked!” Harry shrugs, feeling like a train that can’t brake, “but seriously, Zayner, sometimes we’re just kissing, just making out, and I swear I could almost come without him even touching me. It’s insane. Does that ever happen with Liam? I’ve seen you two snog, I bet it does.”

“Please stop talking,” Zayn protests weakly, kicking at Harry again. 

“No listen, it was insane the other day,” Harry shifts underneath Zayn so he can kneel over him, “you be Niall, and I’ll be me, we were like --”

“Get off of me!” Zayn has his eyes squeezed shut tight as he pushes at Harry’s chest. “Do you want a slap?”

“Niall won’t mind, we’re both dressed.” Harry sits back a little, his leg slung over Zayn’s hips. It’s not like he’s hard or anything. And he doesn’t think Liam would care, either. 

“I‘m not concerned about _Niall_ ,” Zayn struggles, groaning and laughing at the same time as he slaps at Harry’s knee. “Haz, you’re having a laugh, right?”

“Well,” Harry thinks for a moment, flopping down so he’s laid out on top of Zayn, trapping him with his weight, “maybe half, but also I’ve never...Niall and I haven’t even shagged. I’m trying to do things different with him. Better.”

“Yeah.” Zayn reaches up to pat at Harry’s head, his voice sounding like he’s given up. “I know, Hazza. I‘m happy for you.”

“Good,” Harry sighs, relaxing with Zayn’s bony arm pressing uncomfortably into his chest. 

“Maybe just phase it out with Nick,” Zayn’s voice is quiet when he speaks again. “It’s nicer if you don’t just full stop. Easier. For him. Half measures, like.”

Harry knows Zayn is saying more than he usually does, giving a bit of himself away. He tips his head up to bury it in Zayn’s neck, blowing a raspberry there that makes Zayn laugh, so loud that neither of them hear the door until there’s a heavy weight settling on top of them both, Niall’s jacket cold against his skin. 

“Lads, what’s on?” Niall mumbles over them as his fingers curl around Harry’s wrist, and Harry takes as deep a breath as he can, sandwiched between them. 

&&&

Zayn exhales a steady stream of smoke out of the window, grateful that it seems like the worst of the frigid cold has broken. It’s still mostly winter, but it’s less like the kind that makes Zayn want to curl up next to Liam at night, burrowing into his skin until he’s warmer from the inside out. 

“When it gets nicer, Liam,” Zayn stubs out his cigarette on the windowsill before leaning out far to toss it, avoiding the flowers below, “I can go out there to smoke it proper.”

“I don’t much mind,” Liam beams at him before he disappears back to his bedroom, and Zayn knows that Liam loves when Zayn talks about still being around in not just the present. Sometimes he wants to say to Liam, _I only ran out once, and I came back_. 

“I do,” Niall wrinkles his nose up from where he’s tying his tie in front of Liam’s front hall mirror. “Nasty habit.”

“Interesting,” Zayn walks up behind him, batting Niall’s hands away so he can shove it up, do it proper. He tamps down the memory of his dad teaching him how one day, the smell of his aftershave overwhelming and comforting as Zayn tried to master the slippery material sliding against his fingertips. “Since you shared a pack with me not two weeks ago.”

“I was fucking pissed,” Niall shrugs, his eyes growing wide, “don’t tell Haz.”

“Pretty sure he’d figure it out,” Zayn rolls his eyes, lowering his voice, “hope you didn’t let him blow you after that.” 

“None of your fucking business if he did,” Niall grins, his cheeks reddening, “more than once or twice.”

“Just saying,” Zayn tightens the knot, stepping back to admire how it looks, the blue flecks in the fabric picking up on Niall’s eyes, “smoker’s come isn’t like having a sweetie.”

“Sorry for anyone that you give a mouthful to then,” Niall appraises himself in the mirror, smiling as he runs his fingers over the front of the tie. “Thanks, mate.”

“I’ll have you know,” Zayn starts, but then can’t finish. There’s something in Niall’s grin that makes him stop.

“Liam,” Niall calls out, eyes gleaming, “quick question for ya.”

Zayn elbows Niall hard, hissing, “shut the fuck up,” while Niall cackles.

“Yeah, Niall?” Liam walks back into the room, fastening his cufflinks. He looks so fit. Zayn glances him over, Liam smiling broadly at him when he meets his eyes. Zayn will definitely have to spread him out later and get him gasping on all the things Zayn wants to do, a mental list that gets longer when Liam adjusts his tie, tilting his chin up slightly. 

“What kind of event is this again?” Niall looks directly at Zayn when he asks, eyes wide and innocent, and Zayn flips him off, sending Niall into fits again.

“Afternoon cocktail reception, some charity.” Liam doesn’t even blink at the two of them, stepping over to clap his large hand on Zayn’s shoulder. “Won’t be late, won’t have to do anything but look great and really dust ‘em up, make ‘em look good.”

“How much?” Niall is reaching for the invite Liam pointed to now, and Zayn knows that Niall’s calculating how much he can put in, how much he can convince Harry not to go out for a few. Zayn thinks about Harry telling him a couple of weeks before that they don’t get off those days, thinks about Niall going out busking more often than not now that the weather’s been a bit better. He tries not to sag into Liam’s side then, fights the urge to do so. Keeps his bones aligned. 

“Two hundred each, it’s not a long do,” Liam drops his hand from Zayn’s shoulder, adjusting his watch band. 

“Two,” Niall exhales, drumming his fingers impatiently on the counter before grinning over at Zayn, “I mean, I guess that’ll do.”

“Sorry I can’t get you more, lately it’s been slow for double jobs,” Liam frowns, because Liam is a problem solver. If Liam had his way, he’d have them all suited up and ready to go on the regular.

“I appreciate it,” Niall shrugs. “Been doing more music in case the gig goes through, this gives me more time, you know? Tell a lady she’s the craic, get a couple hundred quid in my pocket.” Zayn watches him carefully, glad that Niall’s lost that grim expression he used to get on the one-offs Liam would find him, ones guaranteed not to end in a shag.

“Good, good.” Liam smiles again, looking over at Zayn. “What have you got on today?”

“Becca called,” Zayn plays with the frayed edge of his vest, “wants me to come over for a quick one in about an hour.”

“She’s rather near here, right?” Liam asks, holding up Niall’s jacket for him to shrug into. Zayn nods, and Liam continues, “would you mind popping by for a quick sec after to let Loki out? He’s passed out on my bed at the mo’, I don’t have the heart to wake him before we go.”

“Sure,” Zayn swats at Niall’s side when he makes a face at him behind Liam’s shoulder, “don’t mind.”

“If you want,” Liam slips his keys into his pocket, glancing around like he might have forgotten something, “I’ll pick up a curry on my way home.”

“You could stay the night here, even,” Niall says, pushing his tongue into his cheek obscenely, “I haven’t smoked in _weeks_ , Zayn.”

“Yeah,” Zayn laughs, both at Niall and at Liam’s confused expression, “I might do.” He thinks about sleeping in a proper bed, Liam warm next to him, Loki at their feet. Thinks about how Liam’s mouth feels on his skin. It’s not like he wasn’t planning on staying anyway, the time in between nights at Liam’s getting shorter and shorter.

“Proper great!” Liam grins. “I have a couple of stops before then, but I’ll call when I’m close, see what you want?”

“I’ll make sure I’ve got the ringer on,” Zayn reaches for his coat, “c’mon, I’ll go out with you, take my time.”

**

Rebecca’s is further than Zayn remembers. It’s been a few months since she’d called up; he’d figured she was either done or found some other bloke for her purposes. She’s nice enough, a stay-at-home mum with three kids in a semi-detached house midway between Liam’s and the flat. She’s regular enough for Zayn, someone who doesn’t call too often but is familiar enough that he doesn’t feel like he’s crawling out of his skin when he’s on his way to hers. It’s an easy seventy-five quid, more sometimes if he gets her off with his fingers before he fucks her proper. Plus, it’s usually during the day before her kids get back and while her husband’s at work. It’s nice when Zayn can go out and be back in time for a curry with Liam and a good shag on his own terms, a sleep in a real bed, get off easy for a couple of days. Spend as much time with Liam as possible. 

He’s been looking at the course catalog more and more. Keeps it in the piece of shit book he stole from the library last year that he can never read. Liam hasn’t mentioned it since that day over a month ago; Zayn wishes he would. He knows he’s not bringing it up himself. 

Maybe tonight, he thinks as he finally reaches Rebecca’s, a handful of minutes late. Liam can only keep quiet on these things for so long. Maybe Zayn’ll stop by the flat before he heads out to Liam’s, pick up the book and his bag. Maybe Liam can help him decide what courses he could really take. 

Becca opens the door before he’s up on the top step. 

“Come on,” she says, waving at him to hurry, “you’re already late.”

“Coming,” Zayn hurries past her in the doorway, glancing down at how she’s already wrapped up in her robe, waiting for him. “You want me to,” he asks as she pulls him through the house back to her dim bedroom, “what d’you want?”

“Just shush,” she pushes him so he sits down on the mattress hard, bouncing back up with the impact. “It’s been too long since I’ve been able to fit this in, so I’d like to get to it.”

Zayn nods, taking the condom packet she presses into his hand, ripping it open with his teeth while she sheds her robe and busies herself with his belt.

**

Zayn stares at the ceiling with his pants halfway down his thighs, evening out his heartbeat while he listens to Rebecca flushing the condom in the bathroom down the hall. He never even took off his coat, Becca riding him quick and dirty, talking some stream of nonsense about her husband’s short dick and even shorter temper, how she’s leaving him soon, how she’ll make him pay her loads so she can afford Zayn once a week. 

He’d thought about Liam the whole time, pretended it was Liam riding him.

“Get you your money, love, be a tick,” she calls to him, and Zayn props himself up on his elbows, tugging at his pants and jeans until he can stand, freezing when there’s a loud bang from somewhere up near the front of the house, a man’s voice shouting and Rebecca yelling in return. 

_Fuck_. Zayn fumbles with his flies, thinking _fuck the fucking belt_ when his mind spins, trying to remember the time months ago when she got a call that her bloke was on his way home much earlier than she thought, shoving Zayn down some back hallway and through a window out into the neighbor’s garden. He thinks it’s down the hallway to the left, scrambling through the bedroom doorway and grimacing when he hears another crash, a deep voice yelling _You fucking slag, tell the truth_.

It wasn’t to the left. 

He realizes a split second too late and tries to turn, but then Rebecca’s screaming bloody murder and someone’s grabbing him roughly by the shoulders. It’s a large bloke, broad, much broader than Liam even, taller than Haz, and Zayn feels like his shoulders are in a vise grip when the man drags him up so they’re face to face, furious beady eyes glaring at him as Rebecca sobs and yells nonsense.

“This the piece of fucking shit you’re shagging? Looks like a piece of shit I’d spit on down in some fucking tube station.” After he says it, he reels his head back, spitting full in Zayn’s face. It hits Zayn’s cheekbone, feels slimy and raw and warm as it drips down the side of his nose. 

“Oi,” Zayn protests, pushing at the hands roughly, “I’m not here for trouble, mate.” His voice sounds desperate to his own ears. He can see the door. 

“Well that’s too bloody bad, since you sure as fuck found it,” the bloke hasn’t finished speaking before Zayn’s spinning; he’s not sure what comes first, the pain of being slammed back to the wall, his head snapping back with a loud clunk, or the breath leaving his lungs entirely. Stunned stupid. 

He distantly hears Rebecca screaming again, can see her clawing at her husband’s shoulder, before he feels the fist connect with his face, pain exploding behind his right eye with a burst of bright, bright color. 

Zayn feels like it’s happening in slow motion but he also in reality knows it’s all so fast: him sliding down the wall; another hit connecting with his cheek again until he hears and feels a sickening crunch, finally able to wrap his arms around his head and curl into a ball on the floor.

He tries to breathe again, tries to yell anything so he can get out that door he knows is there, get to the flat and then to walk Loki and to eat curry with Liam. He can feel wetness pooling against his arm, dripping from his cheek and nose, and when he licks his lips there’s a disgusting metallic tang against his tongue. 

He tries to breathe, starts to move, when the heavy boot slams down on his back and then everything goes slow again. All he can see is colors.

&&&

Niall’s in a great mood. 

“What’s the smile for?” Harry’s grins at him when he walks through the door, tossing his beanie on the table and doing the thing with his hair that drives Niall to idiocy, shake shake swoosh. Even did it once while Niall was sucking him off, looking down and playing with his hair. He’s a fucking idiot. Niall can’t. He’s just. Buzzing. 

“Made two hundred today,” Niall says, “an easy job with Liam, made an arse of myself at a party for ‘bout three hours, that’s it.”

“Looks like I’m taking the night off then,” Harry steps closer to where Niall’s leaned up against the sink, tugging at Niall’s tie. 

“This is where it gets better,” Niall pushes Harry’s hands away when he starts pulling at the tie with more purpose, “because Zayn is having dinner at Payno’s. Staying there, prob.” Niall carefully loosens the knot Zayn had tied for him earlier, leaning back to slip it over his head and place it next to the sink before Haz gets his clumsy fingers on it. 

“Really?” Harry’s eyes get wide and extra green before they glance down at the buttons on Niall’s shirt. “I’m definitely taking the night off then.” He pushes his hips against Niall’s as he trails his fingers over Niall’s wrists, bare from where he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves earlier. 

“Haven’t proper seen you in days,” Niall murmurs under his breath when Harry unbuttons the top of his shirt, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of Niall’s throat. 

“It’s been ages,” Harry agrees, pulling at Niall’s wrists again so he’s walking with Harry as Harry backs up, toward their bedroom. Niall was out busking during the day yesterday after a shift at the pub, Harry out at night; it feels like it goes that way more often than not. But Niall wakes up every morning and Haz is there, snoring loudly next to him, giving off heat. So Niall can’t be anything but grateful, really.

“Yesterday was amazing, actually, didn’t want to wake you this morning to tell you,” Niall says, as Harry sits on the edge of the bed and places his hands on Niall’s hips as he looks up at him, fingers curling into his belt.

“I wanna hear,” Harry flattens his palms, running them slowly down Niall’s thighs, and Niall bites back a moan, “but maybe there can be less clothes involved?”

“How much less are we talking?” Niall finishes unbuttoning his shirt before he’s even finished the question, Harry making quick work of his trousers, leaving Niall in his pants. “Here, Hazza,” Niall says, but Harry’s laughing as he works his own jeans down his hips, pulling at Niall’s arm at the same time so Niall loses his balance and tips over on top of him on the bed, laughing as Harry shakes out his legs underneath him. He tugs at Harry’s shirt, pulling it over his head in a fit of static that sparks in the dry air. 

“Still wanna tell me?” Harry presses his lips to Niall’s chin, hand splaying over Niall’s back as he bends his knee to propel them further up the bed.

“Um,” when Niall speaks, his lips bump up against Harry’s nose, “Bressie had me do a practice set during my shift, just a quick one.”

“Wait,” Harry’s hand stills where it was traveling low on Niall’s stomach, “you had a proper set? How did it go?”

“It wasn’t a proper set,” Niall mumbles, suddenly feeling a weird swell of shyness at the genuine awe in Harry’s voice, “played Danny Boy and Come Fly With Me ‘bout five times each, this old Irish lady bought me some pints after, she was my big fan.” And one of the handful of regulars there who already know him, but still.

“And you were tipped in _pints_? Well,” Harry opens his mouth against Niall’s neck, whispering in his ear, “that’s much better than anything I was gonna do here.”

“ _Oh,_ ” the breath rushes out of Niall in one go, barely able to say, “Bressie was well pleased, think it’s really gonna happen.”

“Hold on,” Harry’s worries Niall’s earlobe between his teeth, Niall clutching at his bicep hard enough that Niall’s sure he’s gonna run the ink there. “For real?” 

Harry trails his mouth along Niall’s jaw, and Niall thinks about how Bressie talked about making it a real regular thing if they get enough in for the first go. When he looks up again Harry’s smiling at him, teeth and eyes bright in the dusky twilight, blinking over at Niall. 

“Are you having a cry?” Niall asks, reaching up his thumbs to sweep under Harry’s eyes, across the smooth skin of his cheekbones. 

“I just, you’re just.” Harry’s struggling for words, it’s so unlike him that Niall feels overwhelmed by his own heartbeat, going crazy in his chest. “Niall, you’re so much.”

“Ah,” Niall could shout, he feels so much building up, “Hazza,” he whispers close, lips against Harry’s, “you’re pretty much, yourself.”

“Yeah?” Harry gives in then, opening his mouth against Niall’s, tongue sweeping along his teeth and then inside, kissing him so deeply that something pricks at the backs of Niall’s eyes. Niall kisses him back, reaches up to tangle his hands in Harry’s hair, tugging until Harry groans into his mouth, kisses him until Niall could swear the bed is spinning. 

“Haz,” Niall pulls away, taking a deep breath as Harry’s reaches down to cup at Niall’s hips, thumbs hooking into Niall’s pants so he can push them down his thighs, Niall laughing and helping to kick them down his legs. 

“Wanna feel you,” Harry whispers, shifting so his leg is between Niall’s, his cock hot against Niall’s stomach, sliding against his skin. “Wanna kiss you.”

“You are,” Niall laughs into Harry’s mouth, breath stuttering when Harry palms his hip. He pushes Niall up enough so their cocks slot together, Harry kissing him in the same rhythm he’s setting with the bruising grip he’s got on Niall’s hip. 

“Wanna,” Harry starts, but that’s all he says, fumbling his long fingers against Niall’s skin, hands roaming over Niall’s back to the top of his neck, pushing at Niall’s scalp before dragging down, little pressure points gliding along his spine that make Niall move his hips against Harry in short little bursts. “Wanna,” Harry says again, tongue pointing wet against Niall’s lower lip.

“Tell it to me,” Niall murmurs, breath catching when Harry’s hands run down over his arse, fingers meeting in the middle and gripping just enough to make Niall buck up a bit. “Show it to me,” Niall corrects, shifting his legs so they’re open a little wider when Harry does it again, a little harder this time, a little slower. Deliberate like.

“This okay?” Harry asks, his nose pressed up against Niall’s cheek, staring into his eyes, lips moving against Niall’s. They’re touching everywhere, and Niall’s so hard it hurts. He can’t even speak, humming somewhere in the back of his throat as he nods, Harry huffing out a noise that almost sounds like a laugh. “I feel like, I feel like I’ve never bloody done this before.”

“I’m not exactly smooth, myself.” Niall pushes at Harry’s chest until Harry’s on his back and Niall can drape over him to reach the bedside table, annoyed for a minute that Penelope’s so big that he really has to stretch. “You have anything?” He roots around in the drawer, tossing a condom over his shoulder in Harry’s direction. “Can’t find…”

“Oh, hold on,” Harry slides out from underneath Niall carefully, landing with a thud before rooting around the clothing on the floor. Niall props himself up on his elbows to look down at him, at the smooth skin of Harry’s back, uninterrupted by any ink. Like if you flip Haz over, he’s a whole new person. Niall closes his fist in the duvet, bumping the edge of the condom where it landed on the bed, a fluttering building low in his stomach. Fuck. 

“Did you,” Niall starts, when Harry pulls a small tube of lube out of his jacket pocket, turning to grin at Niall, it lighting up his entire face. 

“Picked up some the other day,” Harry stands, Niall taking in the whole picture, “just figured it’d be a good idea, right? Brand new start, and all that.”

“Right.” Niall can’t trust himself to say any more, smiling when Harry climbs back up on the bed, knee walking up until he’s straddling Niall, resting his arse on Niall’s thighs. 

“Can’t get enough of you like this,” Harry says, fingers ghosting over the flush on Niall’s chest, “it’s a lot. You know that?” 

“You like when I get all red?” Niall laughs, sitting up and pressing his fingers to the swallow on Harry’s left side, “you’re a bit red, too.” He peers more closely at Harry’s skin, closer than what he’s done before. He can almost make out some letters, maybe. “What does this say?”

“Oh,” Harry runs his hands up and down Niall’s arms, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips, “Caz tattoo, covered it up.”

“What did it say,” Niall repeats, groaning when Harry spreads out and rolls his hips down, Niall’s cock taking well enough notice.

“Love,” Harry whispers, into the skin of Niall’s chest in the same spot as Harry’s tattoo. “Said love.” His fingers stutter over Niall’s heartbeat, like they always do.

Niall nods slowly, doesn’t say anything else. Can’t. He prods at Harry’s shoulders until Haz looks up, and his eyes are overwhelming. Niall closes his at the buzz of it until he feels Harry kiss him, scrambles his fingers over the bed until he closes around the small tube. He thinks about Harry out whatever day it was, deciding to pick it up. Probably giving himself some long talk about how it was a new leaf or something. Got real philosophical.

“Here,” he says, pressing it into Harry’s hand. Harry’s fingers brush against Niall’s when he takes it from him, humming in the back of this throat and sending little shockwaves vibrating through Niall’s lips. 

“Okay,” Harry moves his other hand under Niall’s thigh, hitching it up on his hip so he can settle between Niall’s legs. “C’mere.” Niall strains up to meet Harry halfway, Harry kissing him slowly, Niall warming up against him, pushing his hips up as Harry grinds down, when --

There’s a loud noise that comes from the other room, like the door’s slamming. It’s not like Zayn, who’s real quiet normally when he comes in, surprising Niall more than once. 

“Zayn?” Niall whispers, pulling back from Harry to look at him, alarmed. 

“Maybe he forgot something?” Harry shrugs, his hand squeezing Niall’s thigh tight enough that Niall flinches, sure that it’s gonna leave a bruise. “I’ll go check.”

Niall watches as Harry fumbles on the floor, coming up with a pair of Niall’s trackies, pulling them up over his hips and opening the door. “Zayner?” Niall hears him ask, and then it’s this awful, terrible sounding gasp that Niall feels deep in his gut, so much so that he scrambles out of bed without thinking, grabbing his pants off of the floor and pulling them up over his arse as he shuffles out into the kitchen, and it’s. _God_.

Zayn’s slumped against the kitchen table, half standing like he’s not sure what else to do, Harry silent and touching him gingerly, his eyes wider than Niall’s ever seen. When Niall walks out Zayn turns his head, and it’s like one of those adverts where a lady has one side of her face done up, except so much worse, the skin beneath Zayn’s one eye split and bloody, his eye so swollen it’s just a slit. 

“Zayn,” Niall steps forward, realizing that his lip is bleeding from one corner as well, his breathing ragged. “What happened?”

“Uh,” Zayn sounds like he’s wheezing, and Niall’s not sure if he’s out of breath or something else, “Becca’s bloke, he came home early, I tried to leave, Niall. _I tried._ ” He falters then, wincing when Harry catches him. It’s then Niall notices the drip of blood from the tips of his fingers collecting on the floor.

“I know,” Niall steps closer, pressing his finger to the good side of Zayn’s face, “do we need to take you to A&E?”

“No,” Zayn insists, Harry still silent and holding him up, “‘m fine, I made it here, didn’t I?” But it’s like every word hurts Zayn. It hurts Niall to watch him.

“Dunno, Zayn,” Harry whispers, and when he meets Niall’s eyes he looks so young. Niall’s mind is spinning, he tries to think about what his Da would do if he or Greg was sick. 

“Well, we at least have to ice your face, Zayn.” Niall tries to keep his voice gentle as he touches Zayn’s arm, at the same time Zayn turns his head, coughing wracking his frame. Niall watches Harry rub at his back, murmuring something in Zayn’s ear, when Niall realizes that his arm feels odd. Looking down, he sees the blood that came out of Zayn’s mouth when he coughed, splattering all the way up to Niall’s shoulder. He feels frozen. His Da never had….

“Haz,” Niall whispers, but he can’t even hear his own voice. He pokes at Harry’s shoulder repeatedly, counting to five before Harry turns his head from where he’s still whispering into Zayn’s ear reassuringly. When he does, Niall holds up his arm helplessly, feeling the tears overwhelm him. He feels his previous courage drain out of him in one go.

“Is that…” Harry’s voice sounds hollow, before something changes in his eyes, “okay, Zayn? No arguing, okay? We’re gonna take you to emergency, just so they can check you out.”

“Don’t,” Zayn sounds exhausted, sagging in Harry’s arms. Niall feels like a tit. Like a useless piece of shit.

“C’mon,” Niall says, “it’s just up the road.”

“You stand here and lean on Niall,” Harry hands him off gently, Niall surprised at how heavy Zayn feels as he takes his weight. “I’m gonna go grab Niall and I our clothes, and then we’re going.”

“Yeah,” Zayn moans, and now that his side is pressed against Niall’s, Niall can feel just how much he’s struggling to breathe, how pale he looks underneath his beard.

“Good, okay.” Harry leans forward, looking each of them in the eyes before kissing Zayn’s forehead, then Niall’s. “I’m gonna be right back, Niall’s here.”

“ _Niall,_ ” Zayn whispers, sounding small, “‘m sorry.”

“There is _nothing_ to be sorry about,” Niall says, fiercely. He doesn’t look down at his arm, can feel how it’s already drying sticky. It’s so much. Niall can hear Harry talking quietly to himself in the bedroom, and he focuses on that so he stops shaking, so he can hold onto Zayn steadily as they sway together in the dim kitchen.

**

Niall’s not sure how they manage to get up the road to the hospital, Zayn doggedly taking steps between them and gasping every so often. 

“I think it’s something with his ribs,” Niall says quietly to Harry when they get through the doors, “I wonder what the fucker did t’ him.” 

“Jesus.” Harry raises his voice then, “Zayn? Look, we made it here? Do you want to sit so Niall and I can do the paperwork?” Zayn nods, heavy against Niall’s side, before it’s like he’s suddenly given up entirely, too much for them to handle as he collapses to the floor in a heap. 

“HELP!” Harry yells suddenly, his voice so loud as Niall tries to roll Zayn over so the bad side of his face isn’t pressed to the floor, seeing the dark blood dried all over his hands. It’s like it all happens so fast then, people swarming up around them and Harry stuttering out Zayn’s name and “he was beaten, not sure when or where” to the nurse asking them a million questions all at once. 

And then he’s gone. Niall slumps against the wall by the door, still on the floor from when Zayn fell, Harry falling down in a heap next to him and taking his hand. It’s shaking in Niall’s grip, and Harry looks so young again, so pale. It’s only then that Niall realizes they’re both just wearing thin jumpers and trackies, the cold settling into his bones. He tries to remember how they got there, how it was just earlier when Zayn was laughing at him, telling him his spunk tasted awful while he tied his tie. Making plans with --

“Haz,” Niall whispers, turning his head when Harry squeezes at his fingers, “we gotta call Liam.”

&&&

“Alright Mum,” Liam turns the corner, stepping aside for a family walking by, “I should ring off, I’m picking up a curry for Zayn and I need to see what he wants.”

“Sounds wonderful, my love,” Mum lowers her voice then, and Liam presses his phone closer to his ear so he can hear her, “you know, you can bring Zayn around for a weekend anytime, I’ll make anything you two want. What’s his favorite food?”

“Oh Mum,” Liam stutters, feeling out of sorts as he stops short, “it’s not really...Zayn uh, he’s not a social person, really? He’s shy.”

“Shy is okay,” Mum laughs, “won’t be the first one we’ve all talked over now, would he?”

“Yeah, true,” Liam pauses, “Mum, I’ll just...I’ll mention it to him, alright? But I really should go.”

“Alright, love you!” Mum rings off, thankfully, and Liam realizes he’s stood on the corner, staring at his phone like it’s bitten him or something. 

He hasn’t told Zayn that he mentioned to Mum he was seeing a bloke; it had just popped out when she’d asked him one weekend when he’d gone home for a visit. He had thought she’d be confused that he’d even been dating a bloke at all, but she’d just clapped her hands together and asked for a picture, breathing out _oh, he’s gorgeous love_ when Liam’d shown her one of the ones he had on his phone. He feels bad, a bit, even bringing it up; Zayn will talk about his family now but Liam’s learned not to mention trying to contact them. Liam thinks all he’ll need is time but he also knows it’s not fair to take him round to see his. 

It’s fine, though. With Zayn, everything takes time, and then it’s worth it in the end. He can’t wait to see him tonight, been a bit longer than usual -- he’d been surprised and pleased when Zayn had shown up with Niall earlier to get ready, snogging Liam quick while Niall was in the loo and telling him he’d missed him, is all. 

Grinning, Liam dials Zayn’s number. It’s later than he’d thought it’d be, gotten waylaid after by his date even though in the end she hadn’t wanted shagging, so he’s pretty sure that Zayn’s probably at home and grumpy like he gets when he’s hungry, even though Liam’s told him a million times he doesn’t have to wait. 

It goes straight to voicemail, and Liam frowns. He wishes that Zayn would learn to actually use his charger, sure that his phone is probably dead on the table while Zayn plays about with Loki or naps. Oh well, that just means that Liam can swing home first, pick Zayn up and make him go out instead. He’ll whinge about it but Liam knows he can get him to go for it if he pouts enough over Zayn forgetting to charge his phone again.

The flat’s dark when Liam gets in, and he stands there for a moment, smiling to himself at how Zayn’s gonna be up all night if he napped this late. Loki’s speeding out from the bedroom immediately, whining high like he’s dying, and Liam stoops low, nearly stepping in a puddle of wee on the floor, Loki looking up at him reproachfully.

“Did you have an accident?” Liam glances around, notices that he doesn’t see Zayn’s boots anywhere. It’s late; he feels a prickle of worry at the base of his spine, but shrugs it away. Sometimes Zayn gets held up, and it’s not unlike him to not text or call right away, especially if his phone’s dead. 

After taking Loki out for a quick walk, Liam cleans up the wee and changes into sweats, thinks about calling Harry to see if he’s waylaid Zayn after all. He’s just picking up his phone when it rings, and he laughs to himself when he sees that it’s Niall. Whatever Niall had in store’s probably turned into some lads night organized by Harry.

“Nialler,” Liam laughs, putting it on speaker so he can root through the fridge for a quick snack, “long time no talk.”

“Liam,” Niall sounds awful, something sounding off in the background of the call, and Liam stands, stepping closer to his phone. It sounds almost like...like Harry, a bit. But he sounds upset. “I need to tell you something.”

“Is Harry okay?” Liam is sure it’s Hazza now, has heard him cry once before during a film, but this seems different, more desperate sounding.

“We’re at the hospital, I -- “ Niall sounds choked up, himself, “Liam, it’s Zayn.”

“What?” Liam feels wobbly, takes his phone and sits right on the floor of his kitchen, “Niall, is he --”

“He’s okay for now,” Niall takes a deep breath, “I’m not gonna lie to you, he was pretty bad. Got beaten up by Becca’s bloke. They won’t, we don’t know much yet, just that they’re sorting him out.”

Everything stops in Liam’s brain. He reaches up to rub at his face, surprised when his hand comes away wet. But Zayn was just. And he was here, annoyed that Zayn didn’t charge his phone.

“I’m coming,” Liam says, another sob from Harry on the other end making him feel nauseated, “where are you?”

How Liam manages to write down the information from Niall clearly, scrambling on the counter for a biro and scribbling on his palm, he’ll never know.

**

Niall stands up as soon as Liam runs into the waiting area, feeling frantic because it took so bloody long to park. He can see Harry at the small window, leaned over and talking to someone at the desk.

“Li --” Niall starts to say, already opening his arms like he knew Liam was gonna melt into them immediately. He’d tried, on the way over, the whole way, not to cry; didn’t do him much good, feels like his eyes are swollen with it. 

“He’s alright,” Niall rubs at Liam’s back, “Harry made friends with a nurse and she said they’re just about done stitching him up. He can be released tonight.”

“Stitches?” Liam pulls back, keeping his hand braced on Niall’s shoulder and taking a deep shuddery breath, wiping at his eyes. “Like actual stitches?”

“Yeah,” Niall nods, his mouth set in a grim line. “He’s got some broken ribs as well, stitches on his back and arm, and his face is pretty busted.”

“Oh, my god,” Liam has to sit then, pulling Niall down next to him. “But he’s gonna be alright.”

“I can’t imagine it’ll be fun for a few days, but,” Niall shrugs, “he’s doing much better than I’d thought.”

“Was it…” Liam can feel himself start to well up again, his throat thick. “How bad?”

“He’s really banged up,” Niall sounds far away, still rubbing at Liam’s back, “was a lot of blood. I thought -- he’d coughed some up at the flat, but it was just from his mouth.”

“I wish he’d called me,” Liam didn’t realize until he says it out loud, just to Niall, just to the quiet, “I’d have come to get him. Killed that fucking twat.”

“He told them he didn’t know who did it,” Niall’s speaking low, “think that’s a non-starter.”

“I can’t --” Liam gives in fully then, covering his face with his hands and crying hard, doesn’t care who sees. 

“Hey,” Liam can hear Harry before his hand is on Liam’s back, overlapping Niall’s. “Liam, it’s okay.”

“Have you seen him?” Liam looks up, taken aback for a second at how much of a wreck Harry looks. His eyes are flat and red, his hair everywhere. Looks like he’s chewed through half of his bottom lip. 

“No, I’m trying --“ Harry sighs, running his hands through his unruly curls, “they’re gonna let him out soon, but he can’t be back there alone.”

“How did he even get back?” Liam grips at Harry’s hand. “To yours?”

“Um,” Harry shrugs, his voice breaking a bit, “dunno how he managed to get home, he --”

“He walked, and he made it,” Niall cuts in, leveling them both with a stare, “so we can just be grateful for that.”

Liam’s about to thank Niall for trying to calm them down when he sees it, blinking to clear his vision and seeing it as it is, the dried blood on Niall’s shirt, the flecks of it on his arm. The smear of red at Harry’s neck. That’s Zayn’s blood, he tells himself, feeling struck dumb. There was no one there to protect him and that’s Zayn’s blood.

“Liam,” Niall nudges at Liam’s arm, Harry making a soft noise when there’s a nurse striding up to them.

“Alright,” she says, looking at Harry, “can get you back, but only one. He’ll be discharged soon, but it might be a little bit yet.”

“Right,” Harry stands, making like he’s about to follow her, and Niall reaches for his shoulder, Liam still struggling to stand.

“ _Harry_ ,” he says, glancing between Harry and Liam. It’s like it’s Harry but not when he glances back at Liam, looking lost behind the nurse for a moment before something in his eyes changes.

“Of course,” Harry nods, “Liam, you go.”

**

While she leads him back through a sea of hallways and curtains, Liam tries to concentrate, make some sense of what she’s saying.

“-- and he doesn’t have any head trauma, looks like it’s superficial. So he’s lucky for that.” She smiles at Liam, and he manages one back. That’s good. Zayn’s lucky. “He’ll heal up, but it’ll be a rough go.”

“Right,” Liam agrees, like he knows anything about it, and then she’s stopping in front of a small area and drawing back the curtain and --

“ _Liam_ ,” Zayn croaks out, looking better and worse than what Liam had imagined, all at once. One side of his face is swollen up, and Liam can tell from how he’s lying there and breathing shallow that he’s in pain and more out of it than Liam’s ever seen him. 

“We’ll get you some more painkillers before you leave, love,” the nurse busies herself with something at the side table, Liam stepping forward tentatively.

“Soz,” Zayn breathes out, his hand gripping suddenly at Liam’s shirt, gathering a handful and pulling Liam forward. “About Loki.”

“You’re apologizing about Loki when --” Liam can’t even finish his sentence, waving his hand over Zayn’s face. He reaches out then, strokes his fingertip over the part of Zayn’s face that looks like it doesn’t hurt. 

“My phone was dead,” Zayn says slowly, leaning into Liam’s touch, “and I thought I could make it there easier than yours. Didn’t know….if you’d be back yet.”

“Zayn,” Liam can feel the tears starting again, his eyes burning as he leans forward and brushes his lips where his finger had been. He doesn’t care that the nurse clears her throat then or Zayn smells faintly of antiseptic, he just cares that Zayn is here and acting like Loki weeing in the flat is more important than Zayn being safe.

“Liam,” Zayn grunts, and Liam pulls back, holding Zayn’s hand carefully instead.

“Did I hurt you? Christ, I’m mucking it all up.” Liam glances over at the nurse again as she slips out. 

“Think I’m gonna hurt anyway,” Zayn looks like he starts to laugh but then stops, sucking a breath in fast. “Fuck.”

“You’re coming back to mine,” Liam says, feeling firm and hoping Zayn doesn’t get any ideas, “and you are staying until you are okay, and then maybe after even.”

“Good,” Zayn looks down and then up, his eyes looking glassy, “you brought your car?”

“I did,” Liam laughs softly, “nearly killed myself driving over here.”

“What good would that do me?” Zayn smiles with the good side of his mouth, and Liam can tell he’s struggling to hold something in, blinking until there’s one tear tracking down his face out of his good eye. “I need you, Liam.”

“And I’m here,” Liam shrugs, knows enough not to say anything about how he wants to go track down that bloke or tell Zayn how much he loves him, so much, like he’s choking on it all right now.

“Gonna close my eyes,” Zayn sounds pained, squeezing tightly at Liam’s hand. “Wake me when I can leave.”

**

“You sure?” Harry asks again after Liam gets a nearly comatose Zayn into the backseat, the good side of his face resting in Niall’s lap. “We can give up Penelope and set Zayn up there.”

“Hazza, c’mon,” Niall groans, his hand resting delicately on Zayn. “I can go if you want, gather up his things.”

“No,” Harry takes a deep breath, then smiles. Liam reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. “I’ll go, I know all his favorite shirts.”

“Like I said,” Liam puts his arm around Harry, “you can all come stay, for as long as we need. And let me drop you off, Hazza.”

“No,” Harry shakes his head. “I’m good, need to have a walk. I’ll catch the tube once I get his things, or get a taxi.”

“As long as you’re sure.” Harry’s not much acting like himself, but Liam also knows that it’s not like any of them are, at this moment. 

“I am, Liam. Zayn,” Harry sticks his head in the backseat, reaching out to pet at Zayn’s hair, “I’ll see you soon, okay? Love you.”

“You too, Haz.” Zayn grits out, shifting and groaning out at the movement.

“We’ll see you soon,” Liam hugs Harry this time, holding him tight. 

Harry stands there as Liam pulls away carefully so as not to jostle Zayn.

“He’ll be okay,” Niall pipes up from the backseat, Liam knowing enough that he’s not talking about Zayn. “He was a real hero tonight, Liam.”

“I believe it,” Liam says, turning slow, “sorry Zayn, I’m going as smooth as I can.”

**

“Need a cigarette,” Zayn murmurs when Liam finally gets him settled in the bed, Niall out with Loki. 

“Maybe after you get a little rest?” Liam smooths Zayn’s hair back, knows that he’ll have to ice his face soon. It’s overwhelming, Niall saying that he’d help Liam sort through all the instructions the hospital sent them home with once he gets back. 

“Okay,” Zayn takes a shallow breath and exhales out slow, then does it again. “Fuck.”

“I’ll go get your pills,” Liam thinks they gave them a week’s worth, didn’t bother to check. 

“No,” Zayn catches his hand, “Liam, stay.”

“Alright,” Liam feels like he’s been all go since Niall called him, fitting himself carefully next to Zayn on the bed, Zayn on his good side. At least most of the damage is on one side rather than spread around, Liam doesn’t know how Zayn would manage it if all his pain was everywhere and nowhere was comfortable for him.

They lie there for a minute, Liam feeling like he’s going mental with Zayn’s labored breathing. 

“Liam?” Zayn whispers, his one good eye fluttering a bit, “I thought of you, the whole time. Wanted to get to you.”

“Hey,” Liam feels like his heart is bottoming out, “just close your eyes, okay? I’ll be here.”

&&&

It’s cold and Harry’s glad for it, even more glad for Liam’s jacket that he’d forced on him when he left, insistent and concerned like he’s always been, for as long as Harry’s known him. It’s good for Zayn, right now.

He doesn’t know how they’ve all managed to survive the night, not really. All Harry knows is that he was about to shag Niall, had really settled into something far different but better than all the kinds of love he and Zayn used to talk about. Thought that maybe they’d both found something, that they still had each other too. 

Harry’s made his business being happy. The majority of the time, he truly is. He likes that he can focus on the nice bits of life and ignore the rest, thinks he’s taught someone like Zayn to do the same. But Zayn got hurt anyway. His insides were better, after what felt like ages. And now his outsides are broken. Maybe his insides, too. Harry’s terrified to ask.

Harry didn’t realize how far he’d wandered off path on his way, nearly home but coming from a different direction, until suddenly someone’s calling his name. 

“Well,” Louis’s leaned up against a postbox, “haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Louis.” Harry’s pretty sure he’s sober, but Harry doesn’t know enough, sometimes. About anything, really. He’s three streets from the flat; he wants to go.

“You look a mess, Styles,” Louis laughs, the softer, nicer one that Harry only sort of remembers. “Must’ve been a good night.”

“It’s,” Harry clears his throat, something deep inside of him knowing he should shut up, not ramble about like usual. Like there’s a little voice that sounds like Zayn giving him advice.

“It’s what?” Louis straightens up, coming closer. “Good? Bad? Other? Do I need to see to someone for you?”

“Well,” Harry freezes, tries to think of the last time he saw Louis. Thinks it was a month back, when he’d wandered by to check in, to make sure he was still alive, just in case anyone asked. Just because it made him feel better. 

“You’ve got,” Louis’s hand comes up to touch at Harry’s neck, fingertip catching against the spot of Zayn’s blood there. “Harry,” Louis’s voice is completely different now, when he continues, low and insistent, “I mean it, twat, you alright?”

“I’m fine, it’s not -” Harry knows how this goes, knows how he and Louis have adapted this language between them, when Harry says he’s okay he means Zayn, when he’s happy he means Zayn’s happy. “It’s not mine.”

“You,” Louis’s voice is coming out strangled, a bit, his eyes not narrowed in on Harry like usual, look like they’re open wide. They’re bloodshot, Harry can see that now. 

“He’s fine,” Harry whispers, “at Liam’s. It could’ve been different.”

“He’s fine,” Louis repeats, looking stunned. 

“He’s going to be,” Harry shakes his head, knows what he’s doing is wrong, that he shouldn’t, but it’s like he can’t stop himself. “He got beat up. We’re all seeing to him.”

“We…” Louis trails off, tilting his head back so his face is half hidden in the shadows from the building to their left. “Liam, then. And you.”

“I’ve got to get some stuff for him,” Harry starts walking as fast as he can until he’s running, doesn’t stop when Louis calls after him, doesn’t stop at all until he’s at the flat, letting himself in and cursing when he realizes they never bothered to lock up when they left. 

It’s not even a mess, looks like nothing’s even disturbed how he and Niall’d cleaned up the other day. Like nothing happened. He flicks the light on, about to turn to the bedroom and grab a case for Zayn’s things when he sees it. Looks dark and sticky on the floor, spread out in a little circle where Zayn was stood. A few errant splatters about. Harry tracks it with his eyes, how it leads to the door and back. 

It’s so quiet. He wishes he had asked Niall to come with him.

**

It’s like it keeps spreading more, diluted and staining the wood a washed out red the more Harry scrubs. He’s on his knees, feeling like he’s lost it entirely; no one ever taught him the proper way to clean your best mate’s blood up off the floor. Had thought a lot of water was the trick, but now he’s not so sure. Of anything, really. 

There’s a noise at the door and Niall bounds in, looking like a vision, like he knew that Harry needed someone. 

“Hazza?” Niall stops when he sees Harry, his eyes widening at the bowl he’d been filling with hot water, the shampoo because he couldn’t find the cleaning stuff Niall always uses. 

“Niall,” Harry says, only realizing he’s been crying when Niall kneels down carefully next to him, taking the rag from his hand and wiping at Harry’s cheek with his thumb. “Was trying to clean up.”

“I can see that,” Niall sounds careful. “It’s been ages, Liam and I were worried. You left your mobile in Liam’s car.”

“How’s Zayn?” Harry watches Niall as he gathers up the supplies Harry’d laid out, placing the bowl in the sink and the shampoo on the counter. He comes back with a flannel, sopping up the mess. Harry wishes it wasn’t a white one. Now it’s ruined.

“He’s alright,” Niall keeps an anchoring hand on Harry’s knee as he wipes up, “better than you’d think. Wanted a smoke before he took a pain pill. Think he’s hurting pretty bad.”

“This is a mess,” Harry gestures to the floor, Niall still wiping methodically.

“It’ll be alright, see?” Niall points to a spot that’s a lighter red than the rest. “And if not, I’ll pop out to the shops tomorrow and get some stuff, it’ll be like it was never there.”

Harry laughs, and even to his own ears it doesn’t sound right. “Don’t know if we’ll forget.”

“You did a good job, Harry,” Niall swipes at his arm with the flannel, Harry watching the blood disappear into the mess of red already there. 

“I guess,” Harry scoots closer to Niall, sags into him until Niall tucks him under his arm. Harry wants to shrink down, climb into Niall’s lap and make him hold him until he feels better.

“Not this, mind you,” Niall drops the flannel and wraps his arms around Harry fully. “But tonight. With Zayn. I was bricking it, shitting myself. You took charge, Hazza.”

He presses his lips to Harry’s forehead and gathers him up tighter, and Harry melts into it. Niall. He loves Niall.

“What do you say, we gather up Zayn’s things?” Niall says, his voice sounding far away to Harry, “I’ll see to this tomorrow. Bet Zayn’ll be asleep when we get back, maybe you and me can take Loki for a nice long walk. Know it’s the middle of the night, but I think it’ll be nice, yeah?”

Harry shifts so he can get a hand up under Niall’s jumper, placing his palm flat against his chest.

“Really think Zayn’ll be sleeping?” He asks, pushing his finger up against Niall’s nipple, feeling it harden.

Niall inhales, sharp. “Yeah, he’ll be knocked out.”

“I need you, Niall.”

**

Harry chucks off his ruined shirt and the rest of his clothes before he climbs on Penelope, watching as Niall does the same. His eyes are blue; really, really blue. They look bluer the closer he crawls to Harry over the expanse of the bed. Harry remembers how when Caz had first ordered it he’d had a right laugh over it, crawling about and sticking his arse out while she laughed. Sometimes snapped a picture that he knew would probably end up circulated about. Everyone loved it; everyone loved him.

He feels rubbish about it now, though. He doesn’t know if anyone then cared about him the way Niall does. The way Zayn does. Liam. Anyone. 

“You sure about this?” Niall leans over him, tracing the line of Harry’s cheek. “We can go be with Zayn.”

“Zayn’s fucked up no matter what we do,” Harry whispers, tilting his head up to Niall’s touch, “and I need you. I need to be with you.”

“Yeah,” Niall’s staring at him, his eyes wide. He bites his lip. “Life is short, be happy when we can.”

Harry leans up, closing the distance between them to kiss Niall, licking into his mouth immediately. No half measures. He doesn’t want to talk anymore; not like he and Niall usually do, laughing about while they snog and get off, Harry’s heart bursting with it.

His heart is still pounding this way too, Niall rolling over him and grinding down as they snog. Harry’s cock is already smearing wet between them, Niall making soft noises whenever he shifts his hips down. 

He’s got his lips trailing over Harry’s neck, biting gently and then a little harder, soothing over the spot; the little flare of pain sneaks up on Harry, sends him gasping. It’s the most alive he’s felt all evening, knows he’ll have a mark later.

“Sorry,” Niall whispers, rolling them so Harry’s tangled over him now and pressing his lips to the spot again, gentle this time.

“Don’t be,” Harry grins down at him. He spots the lube and condom on the bed, still there from before. He gets a sudden flash of how good it would feel, to have Niall take him apart and then put him back together. He’d wanted it the other way, earlier. Had wanted to take his time and make it last, make Niall come on his cock and say his name over and over again. 

Now, though.

“Yeah?” Niall’s breathless when Harry opens the bottle, slicking up Niall’s fingers and spreading his legs. He knows he’ll be tight, that it’s been a few weeks since Nick last fucked him. The anticipation of it drops low in his gut, coiling there like it’s something he wants Niall to unravel.

Niall snogs him as he opens him up, going slow until Harry tilts his hips and bites at Niall’s lip. Niall takes the hint then, always good at reading what Harry needs. He pulls Harry so he’s flatter on his back, patting his hips so he can shove a pillow under them. His fingers curl just enough to get Harry’s cock twitching before Niall starts to work in a third, Harry feeling the burn of it blooming out from the base of his spine. 

“I’m good,” Harry shifts, reaching for the condom and ripping it open. 

“You sure?” Niall reaches for Harry’s cock, his hand chasing Harry when Harry arches away far enough that Niall’s fingers slip out. 

Harry nods, rolling the condom on Niall and stroking him a couple of times. He widens his legs a little further, pulling Niall down so he’s splayed out on top of him, their lips meeting again in a messy snog. 

“Yeah,” Harry reaches down between them, guiding Niall’s cock so the head of it pushes against his rim. “C’mon.”

“ _Harry_ ,” Niall sounds shaky when the head of his cock pushes in, Harry not prepared for how thick Niall is, how the burn of it takes his breath away for a moment. “You alright?”

Niall’s paused, his cock only halfway in and his arms braced so his weight’s off Harry. Harry wants the opposite, wants Niall’s weight to fuck him into the mattress until he forgets where they’re separate. 

“More than,” Harry snogs Niall again at the same time he relaxes and grips at Niall’s hips, Niall bottoming out so fast that Harry’s sure neither of them breathe for a moment.

“Harry, I,” Niall thrusts shallow at first, but he gets into the rhythm faster than Harry could have dreamed, snogging him deep and rocking into him fast, the push of his hips just on the good side of painful for Harry. “I love you, you know that?”

“I do,” Harry arches his back and kicks his leg out, changing the angle enough that he thinks all he needs is one good stroke to come, Niall already reaching between them. 

Niall laughs, like Harry made a joke. Harry comes hard before he can say anything else, Niall making a startled noise when Harry clenches down around him. 

“ _Harry_ ,” Niall breathes out, over and over again, when his cock twitches in Harry. It feels amazing, like Harry had thought it would, known it would. Like Harry is flying with it. 

When it’s over, Niall’s still there, tracing patterns over Harry’s chest and breathing softly. Everything else is still there, too. 

“We should get to Liam’s,” Niall says, his finger tapping over Harry’s heart. Harry has to blink a few times, before he can look at Niall and reply.

&&&

Louis has never trusted himself. He pretends at it, sure. But at the end of the day, he’s going to do whatever the fuck he wants. Sometimes it works out. More often than not, it’s just a series of fucking himself over in this slow escalation that only gets worse. El laughs at him about it, tells him he’s his own best mate and worst enemy all in one. 

She’s not wrong. He’s tried, a bit more. Toyed with going straight. Watches El on the nights she’s not high out of her mind at the table working on coursework. She’s been managing to split the difference. 

Some of the shit he does is for the best, anyway. 

He’s at Liam’s flat before he can really think about it too much; stop himself from taking the long walk over. Harry had looked such a mess. Louis has gotten used to his dumb bloody visits, smiling and chattering on about how everyone’s fine, he’s so fine, he’s so happy. It’s been good, at least, to know that Louis hadn’t fucked Zayn up beyond help. The thought that he might not be -- it’s shit. Louis just wants to see.

He chain smokes three cigs before he goes up, wishes he kept pills on him like he used to. Oh well. He’ll get some off El when he gets home.

When he opens the door, Liam looks at him like he’s seeing a ghost. Louis is one, he supposes. Liam looks a wreck just like Harry had, quiff standing on end and clothes baggy like he’d been rumpled up in a ball.

“Louis?” Liam says, after a moment of staring at him. Take a fucking picture, is what Louis doesn’t say. 

“Long time, Payno.” Louis makes like he’s gonna step inside, doesn’t miss the hesitation before Liam moves so he can. 

“Um,” Liam runs his fingers through his hair, looking tired. “What do you want, Louis?”

“Thought I’d stop by, have a bit of a play,” Louis bends down to pat at the excited Loki. At least he’s glad to see Louis. “Fuck’s sake, Liam.”

“How did you -- “ Liam opens and closes his mouth. “About what happened?”

“Does it matter?” Louis stands, spreading out his arms and looking around. It’s then that he spots him, a dark head round the corner. Liam’s rearranged his flat, it seems, one of his chairs pushed up against the window to the balcony, Zayn dangling a cig out the small opening.

It hits him then, glancing about and seeing how everything else is the same as he remembers. Liam must have moved it then. Like Zayn can’t even...fuck.

“I don’t think,” Liam starts, and then bites at his lip. “Just...don’t, okay? He’s had a night.”

“Don’t what?” Louis can’t help himself. “Can’t even check in on him?”

“You can,” Liam sounds clipped, but reasonable like always, “but. It’s been a long time, Louis. Watch it.”

“Fuck you,” Louis knows he sounds deflated, like there’s nothing behind it. He follows Liam, coming up slow on Zayn, and. Oh. Oh fuck. He looks like shit. 

“Who the fuck did this?” Louis asks, and it’s then that Zayn notices him, his one eye going wide. It makes Louis’s gut clench. 

“Louis?” He asks, then shakes his head slow. “How did you…” He trails off, looking to fucking Liam like he’s asking for guidance. 

“I ran into Harry,” Louis speaks before Liam has a chance, “he mentioned it.”

“Harry?” Liam asks, his voice quiet, “you saw him?”

“Yeah, he’s my little regular visitor, it’s how I know you lot are still alive.” It’s how Harry knows that Louis’s still alive, he supposes. Just as well. He didn’t think that Harry was running home to tell Zayn all about their little chats, but it stings all the same that they look so stunned.

“Fuck,” Zayn blinks. “Liam, can you-”

“Yeah, I’ll get it, then you can get some sleep.” Liam steps around Louis, glances at him on the way like he’s not sure if he should leave. Same old Liam.

“Was Becca’s bloke,” Zayn says, slow, like he’s measuring out his words. 

“I can,” Louis starts, but Zayn raises his hand to stop him. His face is so fucked up.

“Suppose I deserved it, fucking his bird in his own house.” Zayn turns his head, and from this angle Louis could almost imagine he looks normal, like before. “Never warned me about that bit.”

Louis can’t tell if he’s joking or not, and he’s reaching out before he can stop himself, just as unthinking as it’d been when he’d shown up here. Touches his fingers to the slope of Zayn’s cheek, where it’s not swollen and angry.

Zayn flinches away. Breathes in sharp, like it killed him to move at all. 

Louis can feel it, that shaky bit of himself coming up again. Fucking hell. He knows he deserves it, dropping his hand and glancing about as Liam comes back, holding a pill Louis recognizes and a bottle of water.

“Here babe,” Liam says, his hand steadying on Zayn’s shoulder as he takes it, making a sound in his throat like it hurts. Louis feels like someone fucking beat the shit out of _him_. It makes sense, when he thinks about it. Zayn and Liam, all their little jokes. How Liam was the only one who ever distracted him from Louis. 

Louis clenches his fists. 

“Well,” he says, shuffling his feet, “wanted to see if you were alive, and here you are, so.”

“It was…” Liam looks like he’s struggling for words, “nice, of you to check in.”

“Yeah,” Zayn breathes out. He’s already got his eyes closed.

“I’ll show you out?” Liam’s being so cordial, is the thing. Like what he’s saying doesn’t match his eyes, which look about as upset as Louis’s ever seen. 

“I’ve got it,” Louis shrugs, getting in one last dig, “I’m good at leaving, right lads?”

Neither of them even give him the satisfaction of a response.

**

“Louis?” Harry looks slightly less worse for the wear now, coming up on Louis as he stands there, smoking until he feels alright enough to make it home. 

“Dear Harold,” Louis snorts, lighting up another. Harry’s holding hands with some blonde bloke Louis’s never even seen. It’s like there’s all these layers of shit Louis will never know about.

“What are you…” Harry bites his lip, the bloke next to him looking confused. “Um, did you go upstairs? Fuck, I shouldn’t have said...”

“Calm down,” Louis exhales, Harry looking wild again, “I was barely there. No one’s crying about it, so why should you?”

“I guess,” Harry still looks troubled, his forehead drawn up like he’s puzzling over something. “This is, uh, this is Niall.”

“Cheers,” Niall reaches out his hand, and Louis stares at it until he shrugs, dropping it back to his side.

“Zayn lived with Louis, before me,” Harry sounds like he’s trying his best to talk carefully, not the rambling on Louis is used to. Fuck, Harry hasn’t even smiled.

“Ah,” Niall shakes his head, “so bloody awful, yeah? To Zayn, of all people.”

“Of all people, sure,” Louis takes another deep drag, the three of them settling into silence.

“Niall,” Harry turns his head, kissing his cheek, “you go on up with Zayn’s things, I’ll be there in a second.”

“Alright,” Niall shrugs, “nice to meet ya, Louis.”

Louis doesn’t bother answering, he and Harry both watching him go inside, balancing a large case.

“Moving Zayn into Liam’s love nest, then?” Louis can’t help but ask. “You have been keeping some things from me, Harry.”

“It’s not my business,” Harry sounds disoriented, far off almost. “Or yours, really.”

“Ouch,” Louis exhales his next drag full in Harry’s face, to see if that’ll startle him out of it. “That your bloke?”

“Niall?” Harry does smile then, for a second. “Yeah. He is.”

“He in the business?” Louis grinds out his cigarette with the heel of his trainer. 

“No,” Harry shrugs, “Louis, what did you say to Zayn?”

“Nothing.” Louis’s not gonna rehash it all just so Harry can feel better. Not that he looks like he’s about to any time soon. 

“Oh, right.” Harry shakes his head. “He’s with Liam now, you know.”

“I gathered.”

“Yeah,” Harry laughs, this horrible hollow sound. “You were a twat about it, the love nest thing.”

“Really following along tonight, aren’t you?” Louis wishes he could stop himself sometimes, he really does.

“It’s been a shit night,” Harry’s quiet for a moment, then, “real shit.”

“Yeah, I,” Louis can’t take it anymore, doesn’t know why he’s hanging about as if he’ll be invited back up for a round of cards round Zayn’s sick bed. “I’m gonna go home, get some good pills, try to forget.”

He starts to walk away, brushing past Harry, but then Harry catches his elbow with his hand, pulling slightly. It’s enough that Louis stops, looking at Harry expectantly.

“Do they? Like,” Harry chews on his lip, looking like he’s working something out, “make you forget?”

“Sometimes.” Louis sighs; he really wants to go. “You got a pen?”

“Um,” Harry looks down at the rucksack at his feet, bending and rustling around until he’s coming up with a biro and a book. When he flips to a clean page, Louis can see all the sketches in it. Knows it’s Zayn’s. 

He writes down the address as fast as he can without it being impossible to make out. 

“Here,” he says, shoving it back into Harry’s hands, “come round there later, I can sort you out if you want to give it a go. It helps when things are shit sometimes.”

“This where you live?” Harry’s frowning, staring down at El’s address like it’s a puzzle. “Not the van?”

“Nope,” Louis walks away, means it this time. “Not the van.”


	5. do we simply stare at what's horrible and forgive it?

“Are you sure you don’t --”

“I don’t want to deal with a doctor, Liam,” Zayn says, his ribs protesting the slightest bit. They’d said it’d be weeks before the pain wore off, longer if he wasn’t careful. Which he has been, cooped up in Liam’s flat for nearly two weeks now. “Once was enough. Don’t need a professional to take these stupid stitches out.”

Liam sets his mouth in a straight line. Zayn reaches for his hand, trying not to wince. Liam’s face gets even worse when he winces and then Zayn ends up back in bed. He’s running out of things to read.

“All set, lads,” Niall says. “I mean. If you are.”

“We are,” Zayn says, Liam not arguing. “Look, it’s just like mending a shirt but in like, reverse, it’ll be alright.”

“I’ve never mended a shirt!” Liam’s voice gets shrill, making Zayn laugh. That hurts, too. 

“If it helps,” Niall pats a chair, motioning for Zayn to sit backwards in it, leaning forward over the back, his arms braced on the table, “my mum once took my brother’s stitches out in our kitchen, too. Snip snip snip, just like that.” 

Liam looks skeptical. “Maybe you should do it, then.”

“Fuck no. Hands’d shake too much. This is all you, Liam.” 

“It’ll be fine, babe.” Zayn reaches for the tea towel on the table, noticing Niall’s lined up the scissors and tweezers all neat. Plasters and antiseptic cream, too. The kitchen table looks like a clinic. 

“The doctor is in!” Niall says when Liam starts peeling the bandage off. “Doctor Pay-- oh shit, no, that’s _horrible_. Think you chose the wrong profession, mate.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Zayn says. Laughing hurts the most. Right behind coughing and sneezing. 

“Don’t make _me_ laugh,” Liam says, going for the scissors and tweezers. Zayn can feel his breath light on his back; it gives him goose bumps.

“It’s a good thing Haz isn’t here then,” Zayn tilts his head to look at Niall, “it’d be forty-five minutes of Dr. Payne puns and I’d probably end up back in hospital with a punctured lung.”

“Is he,” Liam pauses, Zayn feeling a slight tug, Liam exhaling heavily as the stitch cuts easily, comes out smoothly. He drops it on a piece of kitchen roll. “Oh, that wasn’t so bad! What was I -- right, yeah, where _is_ Harry?”

“He didn’t say,” Niall shrugs. “Think maybe he’s with Grimmy? Or Jeff might be in town, dunno. He’s been real busy lately. Haven’t had much time with him.”

“Sorry,” Zayn says, knowing he’s fucked them over, no way he’s making rent this month. Or next at this rate. Liam keeps saying it’s not a problem, that he’s got plenty to float Zayn while he crashes, but he knows Niall and Harry are worse off. 

“Don’t be a cunt,” Niall says. “Bressie already gave me an extra shift for the rest of the month. We’ll make do.”

Zayn thinks of the tightness in Harry’s shoulders the last time he’d stopped by, the circles under his eyes. He’d been too out of it on painkillers to put two and two together, that Harry’d been working double just to cover him. 

“Still,” he says, looking to see if Niall’s got the same weary lines in his forehead. There’s none that Zayn can see, but Niall’s always been better at putting on a front.

“If you need --” Liam starts.

“Lads. We’ll make do. Like I said, me and Haz are both picking up extra at the mo. It’ll all work out.”

They let it drop, Niall coming around to watch Liam pull out the last stitch, marveling at his job well done. 

“Think you missed your calling, Liam,” he says, dragging his finger over Zayn’s shoulder, parallel to the cut. Zayn’s only seen it once, knows it’s a jagged line of angry black knots. Well, it was. Now it’s just a jagged line.

“How’s it feel, Zayn?” Liam asks, resting his palm on Zayn’s good shoulder. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” Zayn sits up a bit, moving slowly, “thanks.”

Liam drops a kiss on his head before reaching for the cream, telling Niall to open the plasters, both of them acting like TV doctors now that the worst of it’s over. 

**

It really is shit, being cooped up all the time. And it’s not just that he’s dead bored, it’s that he’s dead bored and he can’t do much for himself. Needs Liam to help him get dressed, cut his chicken at dinner. Can’t even brush his own bloody teeth without bursts of pain behind his eyes. 

“It’s alright,” Liam keeps saying, and Zayn knows it is, knows Liam would never hold any of this against him, but it’s terrible, having to sit around, not being able to pitch in. He can’t even take Loki for walks because he’s got a tendency to pull the leash. 

He’s so glad when he can finally get out of bed without wanting to cry. Celebrates by crawling right back into it and snogging Liam until he’s running late for a gig. 

“Guess we won’t be putting you to pasture after all,” Liam says, ducking back in for a kiss before he goes.

The guilt gets worse as he gets better, though. Here he is, kipping on the sofa at all hours, while Liam’s schedule only gets busier. He goes so far as to haul himself to Tesco one afternoon, all set to pick up something for dinner, only to realize he’s only got a tenner in his wallet. That he doesn’t know how much he has back at Liam’s; can’t be more than fifty quid at this point. 

He goes home empty-handed.

A few days later, while Liam’s out again, some do that’s supposed to go until midnight, Zayn decides to try for it. His bruises are mostly faded at this point, and it’s dark out. He doubts a desperate bloke’s going to notice the yellow tinge to his skin in some spots.

He figures he can get in one, maybe two, just enough to cover groceries. It’ll be fine, he tells himself on the walk over. It’s longer than he remembers. Everything else is the same, though. 

Zayn hangs back, lights a cigarette and keeps to the shadows. It'll be fine, he tells himself again, leaning against the bricks, not caring that it'll rough up his jacket. Liam's jacket. Whatever. He kicks his heel against the wall, jittery for no reason. The night's quiet, calm. Same as it always was. He doesn’t remember having to psych himself up for this. Not even in the beginning. 

There are headlamps in the distance, a car crawling slowly down the street. Zayn drops his cig, crushing it out. He knows he should step forward but he can’t. His stomach aches suddenly, his mouth going sour with the phantom taste of blood. He licks his lips, tasting it again, realizing it's not phantom, that he's bit his lip hard enough to bleed. Fuck. He spits onto the sidewalk, feeling like he can't breathe. The thought of some random bloke's prick in his mouth only makes it worse. 

It's fine, he reminds himself. This is nothing like Becca's. Nothing out of the ordinary. It doesn't help. He feels flushed all over, too hot, his skin too tight. His palms are clammy. He can't do this.

The car drives closer. Zayn turns on his heel and flees.

**

Liam’s already home when he gets back, panic on his face as Zayn comes through the door.

“I was calling you,” Liam says, “but you didn’t --”

Zayn pulls his phone out, sees the missed calls and texts. “It was on silent.” 

It sets Liam sputtering. “ _Silent_? Jesus, Zayn. I thought…” He has his arm curled up over his head, face turned into his bicep as he tugs his hair. He lets out a shuddery breath. “ _Silent_!?”

Zayn shrugs. He always switches it to silent beforehand. It’s the wrong reaction, apparently, because Liam’s face goes dark. 

"Silent," he says again, laughing a bit on it, shaking his head. "Of course."

"I thought you'd be later." Zayn lets go of his side. He'd run the first few streets, needing to get out of there. Get away. 

"Zayn, that's not -- I," Liam takes a breath, like he's trying to settle himself, "you were fucking _gone_ , no note, and then you wouldn't answer your bloody phone and I thought --"

Zayn feels like a prat when it hits him, Liam's panic and the hysterical tinge to his rant now, how the last time Zayn had been unreachable -- the last time he'd been out of the fucking flat alone -- he'd been to see Becca. It’s been so long, weeks gone. He honestly hadn’t thought. Fuck.

"I'm alright," he says, stepping closer, tentatively setting his hand on Liam's arm, "I'm sorry, I didn't think."

"You never do.”

Zayn tries not to flinch at Liam's bitter laugh. He squeezes Liam's elbow, aiming for reassuring. "I'm sorry, yeah? I won't -- I'll try to be better. At least it was charged this time, right?"

The joke falls flat. Zayn sighs, resting his forehead against Liam's shoulder. 

"Sorry. It was stupid, I,” he takes another breath, “I'm sorry." Liam relaxes a bit when Zayn kisses the corner of his mouth. “I just got sick of not being able to pull my weight, figured I’d go out for a bit --”

“Zayn.” Liam sounds disappointed, of all things. 

“-- but I couldn’t go through with it,” Zayn disappointed, too, and angry, doesn’t know what the fuck he’s going to do now, “fucking panicked and ran away.”

“I told you I’ve got enough. I thought you…” Liam shakes his head. “Christ, Zayn, you were practically living here before and we were managing just fine.”

“I chipped in then!”

“Yeah, and you will again, but you don’t have to go straight back to it. You got _beaten_.”

“By Becca’s bloke, not some random!” Zayn doesn’t know why they’re arguing about this anyway, over what amounts to Zayn taking a long walk. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?” Liam watches him walk gingerly over to the sofa, Zayn scowling. He hadn’t meant it like that. “Because Louis stopped by and --”

“And _what_?” Zayn spits, not caring that his ribs twinge when he pivots to look at Liam.

“And you acted like it was nothing!”

“Because it was! It’s been a _year_ , Liam.” It feels like longer, if Zayn’s being honest. He’d always thought seeing Louis again would be one of of those time-stopping moments that happen in films. Instead he’d just felt nothing. It had been a shit day already; seeing Louis hadn’t made it any better, but it hadn’t made it any worse, either.

“Exactly! He comes back after a year -- has the stones to walk into my flat and act like everything’s alright between you?”

“Why are you so angry about it?”

“Why _aren’t_ you?” Liam shouts. Zayn can’t remember ever hearing him shout before, not at anything real anyway. Football games, arsehole drivers. Never at Zayn, though. “I saw how bad it was after him, Zayn. How bad you were. Why aren’t you angrier at him? I’m fucking furious and I’m not the one he left behind!”

“Are you serious right now? Of course I’m angry with him. Sometimes I think part of me might be for the rest of my life! But _you’re_ the one who told me to make my peace with him.” Zayn jabs Liam in the chest as he talks. “You’re the one who told me to move on. And guess what, Liam, I fucking did.”

Liam fucking laughs, this grating, dry sound. “Just like that.”

Zayn’s never wanted to hit him before but he feels like he could put his fist through the bloody wall right about now. Liam, more than almost anyone, should know how long it’s been.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He digs his fingernails into his palm. “I -- did _you_ get kicked in the head? Because I thought you were here the whole time.”

“Yeah, I was,” Liam’s shouting again, “the whole fucking time. Sat and watched you scrape yourself back together. Which is why I don’t understand how you could just let him walk back in like that. Like nothing had happened at all.”

“I could barely sit up. Was hardly in the mood to punch him in the face.”

“I would’ve,” Liam says petulantly. It makes Zayn laugh, just a little. He shakes his head, smiling at him.

“Liam.” He sits on the sofa; he hadn’t realized how much his sides were hurting until he sat. Maybe it’s for the best he’d panicked. 

“I’m serious. I would’ve.”

“No, you wouldn’t, babe, but I wouldn’t want you to, either.” He pats the space next to him, Liam sitting tentatively, too much space between them. 

“Why _not_?”

“I’m just,” Zayn tips his head back, staring at the ceiling, “I’m tired of it all. Like. I got so tired of being upset all the time. I had to let it go, you know?”

He looks over, Liam shaking his head like he doesn't get it. Like Zayn’s gone a bit mental, actually. 

Zayn exhales heavily, ignoring the pain. He’s used to it now, mostly. 

“Look,” he says, “me and Louis and all that, it’s in the past, yeah? I’m still here, Liam. Me and you.”

He waits for Liam to say something, anything, to indicate that he understands, but he doesn’t. Zayn shrugs; he doesn’t know how else to explain it. Doesn’t feel much like trying, either. It’s just… how it is.

“It’s been a fucked up night,” he says, tired and achy. “Can we go to bed?”

Liam leans until he’s close enough to rest his head on Zayn’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he moves his fingers over Zayn’s hand until Zayn flips it over, Liam lacing their fingers together, “if that’s what you want, course.”

It’s the only thing Zayn wants right now.

**

“Haz,” Zayn knocks on the door as he lets himself in, “don’t get your hopes up, I’ve just --”

He stops when he realizes he’s talking to an empty flat. Frowning, Zayn pokes his head into the bedroom and the loo. He’d known Niall was working, but Harry should’ve been here. It’s only dusk.

This is what he gets for not texting. Probably shouldn’t have forgotten his phone back at Liam’s either. Oops.

The flat’s dark and cold, just like it’s always been, Penelope unmade. Zayn resists the urge to swaddle himself in the blankets and have a quick kip. He’d told Liam he would be back in time for dinner. Had said maybe he’d bring Harry back with him, but doesn’t look like that’s happening.

He stuffs a few things in his empty rucksack -- shirts he’d been missing, jeans, clean pants. His markers since the biros Liam’s got lying around are shit for doodling. A handful of books he’s left scattered around the flat. His spare lighter. Just enough to fill up his bag, get him through so he hasn’t got to worry about laundry as much.

Before he goes he scrawls a quick _sorry I missed you! See ya soon! xxx_ on a bit of kitchen roll, sticking magnets at each corner to hold it to the center of the fridge. 

The walk home is quick, even though it’s fully dark by then. Zayn wonders if it means spring’s coming early this year.

&&&

“Can’t believe it,” Niall counts through the notes, doing the maths again. It’s more tips than he’s made at the pub since he started, more by a mile. “Never thought I’d make this much here.”

“Don’t know if I should thank you for that,” Bressie looks up from where he’s sat with a pint and the diary he uses for events. “But I will thank you for suggesting an extra trivia night.”

“Not much of a suggestion, we already knew those nights were banging up,” Niall shrugs, ducking his head and grinning to himself while Bressie’s not looking.

“That’s a load of shite,” Bressie pushes his pint down the bar for a refill, “because it was down to you when it came to suggesting theme nights.”

“Everyone loves a pub quiz, why wouldn’t they love a themed one?” Niall counts the pile a third time. They’ll be nearly squared up for the month, better than that if -- “oi, think you might need me tomorrow?”

“Could do,” Bressie flips to another page in the diary. “Yeah, we’ll definitely be full up. You’ve been here nearly every day for weeks, lad.”

“Just trying to--” Niall starts, feeling uncomfortable for a second before Bressie continues.

“Tell the truth, are you out for my job? Aiming for a coup?” Bressie laughs at his own shit joke, Niall grateful that he’s not noticing anything off. Not that there _is_ anything off.

“Watch out,” Niall folds up the money, puts it in his pocket, “this place is gonna be called Niall’s soon.”

“Especially once you win ‘em all over with your gorgeous voice and rock star antics, yeah?” Bressie grins, “you getting excited?”

“Ah, could take or leave it really,” Niall swipes Bressie’s glass, taking a long swig of beer. “Not looking forward to it at all.”

“Figured as such,” Bressie jots something down. “Think you’ll have enough for a full set come the night?’

“Ah, definitely,” Niall pulls himself his own pint and gulps half of it in one go, can feel it dribble down his chin a bit. 

“Love that one you played the other night while we were mopping up, the original one you were testing out?” Bressie shuts the diary, standing up, “you get out of here, yeah? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Niall finishes his pint, hesitating, “sure you wanna kick me out? Sick of me already.”

“Lad,” Bressie laughs, “you deserve a break. Go home, see your Harry, have some sleep. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Niall sets his empty pint glass carefully on the bar. “See you tomorrow.”

**

Niall opens the door to the flat slowly, even though he’s pretty bloody sure it’ll be empty. It is. Seems even emptier, looks almost like maybe Harry was back, maybe he tidied up a bit or something. He takes his time as he walks around, almost like he’s taking inventory. Like Harry finally cleaned up the remainder of Zayn’s things from weeks earlier. 

Niall had started to, when they got back to their flat two nights after it all happened. Waited until after he’d shagged Harry in the shower until they were both gasping on it before he went about, trying to make sense of it. 

He’d already snuck back to finish cleaning up the floor. It’s pretty clean, now. He doesn’t like to think about it, coming back to Harry crying while just pushing Zayn’s blood all about and making a bigger mess than it already was. 

Harry had stopped him before he’d even folded one of Zayn’s discarded shirts, a frown creasing his brow.

“Leave it,” he’d said, the mark on his neck stark in the dim light of the flat. Niall hadn’t realized it was so dark, Harry encouraging him. “Please?” he’d added, his voice breaking.

So Niall left it. He thinks maybe it’s a good thing, if Harry had actually been back for long enough to clean it up. He feels better enough that he goes to the fridge, thinks they might have some beer left. 

There’s a note on the fridge in Zayn’s handwriting. Oh. Not Harry after all. Makes sense.

It’s been shit. It’s been absolute shit and Niall doesn’t know what to do. He’s at the pub all hours that Bressie’ll have him, tries to check in on Zayn and Liam as much as he can. Works on his set. It’s only a month out from the big night, everything sneaking up on Niall at once. 

He sees Harry much less frequently than he’d thought he would, especially with how Harry was right after everything with Zayn. It was constant shagging, Harry pulling Niall closer, his eyes wild with it. Was great, at first. Still great, if Niall’s being honest. He knew that shagging Harry would be about as great as anything could be, once they really worked up to it. 

It’s just. Harry’s eyes don’t match the rest of him, not anymore. Niall knows they’ve both been working more so Zayn won’t have to worry, but it’s like Harry’s always distracted, out of it. Busy from one day to the next. They aren’t even seeing Liam and Zayn at the same time. 

The way Niall sees it, he doubts that Zayn’s ever really going to live at the flat again. Knows that it’s more than doable with the two of them to cover all the expenses, just like Harry and Zayn did before. That at this point, with everything he’s got saved up, if Harry has just as much they’re good for two months now. Maybe that’s what they need, a couple days to themselves. Get back in sync. Get Harry out of it. Was fucking terrifying, what happened. Harry just needs a bit more time. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out, sees that it’s from Liam.

_Late nite stuck up for a bit yet want a midnite dinner? meet me @ home?_

Niall knows what Liam means, that he’s asking Niall to check in on Zayn. He’s done it a few times, after he’d told Niall one night about Zayn getting out. 

“I know he’s fine, and I don’t want to like, say he needs a minder,” Liam had said, looking sheepish, “and I’d ask Harry but he’s out at all hours lately.”

It hurt, just a little bit. To see how worried Liam had been. With all of it, really. Both him and Harry that night, the messes they were. Liam’s been better lately maybe, Niall thinks. Even if he still asks Niall to stick around when he can on the later nights. Makes Niall think that maybe Harry can get there, too. 

Besides, it’s been nice, to chill in Liam’s flat with Zayn. Niall feels like he’s really settled into it, hasn’t felt this settled since he left Mullingar all those years before, sixteen and an eejit.

 _Just got home, I’ll head over k_ Niall replies, Liam thanking him a moment later.

**

“Think maybe if you,” Zayn hums something under his breath, his hand pressed firmly to his side like maybe there’s still an edge of pain there. Niall picks it up, though, singing the line a little different. “That’s it,” Zayn smiles, leaning back on the sofa with Loki curled in his lap, “gonna be sick.”

Niall had showed up with his guitar and asked Zayn to be his practice audience for his set of mostly covers, had been surprised when Zayn turned out to have a pretty good ear for it and a lovely voice. He hasn’t wanted to really test anything out for Harry, especially not any of the ones that are pretty clearly about him. A part of him wants to see the look on Harry’s face, when he hears it all for the first time. That bright smile in the crowd.

“Cheers,” Niall grins, setting the guitar to the side and tucking his knee under his leg. “You’ve got hidden depths, mate.”

“Nah,” Zayn shakes his head slowly, the yellowing bruises on his face less visible in the dim light of the flat. “Just know what I like. Like a concert just for me.”

“That’s rubbish,” Niall fake groans, rolling his eyes when Zayn smiles, “hitting the wrong target with that one.”

It’s quiet for a moment, Zayn still chuckling low.

“He’s gonna love it, mate,” Zayn says, reaching out and tapping his knuckles against Niall’s shoulder. “Gonna win him over.”

“You saying I haven’t already?” Niall laughs, leaning back against the back of the sofa. “Have I ever got the wrong end of it.”

Zayn makes a face. “Don’t wanna hear about that.”

“I appreciate it, though, yeah?” Niall plays with a rip at his knee. “Haven’t been playing for him much lately, wanna keep it fresh. Not been hard, for all I’ve been seeing him. Like ships in the night, us two.”

“Makes sense,” Zayn sighs, taking a shallow breath. “Listen, Niall, I’ve got a few quid, I could…”

“No,” Niall holds up his hands, waits until Zayn shuts his mouth with a frown on his face. “To be honest, mate, we’re more than good with even just the hours I’ve been putting in at the pub.”

“You sure?” Zayn doesn’t look convinced, got that look on his face like a storm cloud trying to do maths that he gets sometimes. 

“Yes.” Niall says it with what he hopes is a sense of finality. “We’d be good even if you stayed here for ages, Zayn. So don’t think that’s an issue.”

“Yeah.” Zayn looks down, the slope of his one cheek still looking a little swollen. “I’d feel bad, have to let Harry get used to that, you know?”

“I know, but,” Niall shrugs, “anyone who’s been to see you through this would know it’s really where you belong, yeah?” Zayn doesn’t do anything but smile to himself, still looking down, so Niall continues. “You gotta do what feels right, in the end. Wouldn’t be with Harry otherwise.”

They sit there for a moment, Niall feeling settled. Feeling like he misses Harry.

“Feel shit.” Zayn finally breaks the silence, “about the money thing. Feel the opposite, about the rest.”

“Money’s shit,” Niall shrugs, “until it’s not. If the rest is good enough, then…”

“I guess,” Zayn doesn’t sound entirely convinced. “Miss Hazza though, was thinking of talking to Liam and having you both for dinner.”

“You two that codependent?” Niall laughs, “thought you’d gotten used to holing up for a few days here in your shag pad even before, didn’t see either Haz or I for days.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn shakes his head, laughing carefully, “haven’t seen Hazza in like, a couple weeks, at least.”

“Wait,” Niall pauses, flipping through the last time _he_ even saw Harry. Probably two days ago. “Weeks?”

Zayn shrugs, frowning again. “Yeah, which is why I brought up the money thing? I’ve felt like a real twat since you two were running around busy as fuck to cover my share. Harry’d seemed real stretched thin last time I saw him.”

“He,” Niall feels something like worry prick up in the back of his mind, something a little like anger. He pushes it away, tries to smile at Zayn.

“We’re just putting away for a couple months go is all,” Niall says, willing himself to believe it, “we should do the dinner.”

“‘kay,” Zayn leans back again, looking knackered. 

“Here,” Niall reaches for his guitar, “I’ll play through it again while we wait for Liam to come with the food.”

**

Niall wakes up to Harry’s warm weight landing on top of him.

“Hazza,” he mumbles, trying to wake up and untangle himself, “what time is it?”

“Laaaate,” Harry singsongs, “or early, depending.”

“It’s,” Niall looks at Harry’s watch, feeling like a fucking bus has run him over, “Harry. It’s nearly five in the morning.”

“So,” Harry starfishes over Niall, his hair sweaty against Niall’s cheek when he pushes his lips against his neck, “time to get up, for breakfast.”

“Jesus,” Niall gives up, feeling slightly relieved and annoyed as he rests his hands at Harry’s hips. He smells off, not like Harry. “Where were you?”

“Out,” Harry’s tracing his lips around Niall’s ear now, starting to grind down sloppily. “And...about.”

“Listen,” Niall turns his head to the side, tries to hold Harry steady enough that they can speak before shagging, Harry clearly on that path, Niall’s cock already up for it. 

“You listen,” Harry slurs, sounding off. 

“Harry, wait, I--” Niall maneuvers himself, pushing until Harry flops over on his back. Niall sits up, looking down at Harry’s face, “Hazza, what the fuck?”

“Nialllll,” Harry whispers, his eyes wide and wild even in the dark. His pupils are pinpoints, his skin looks like it’s covered in a layer of sweat. Niall traces his finger over Harry’s eyebrow, Harry arching into his touch like a cat.

“Are you,” Niall feels struck dumb, “on something?”

“Magic beans,” Harry starts laughing, “wanna climb your beanstalk, Niall.” 

He reaches for Niall’s cock, but Niall catches his wrist handily, leaning down and brushing his lips against Harry’s. Thinks it might calm him, or something. Anything. He’s been around Harry pissed plenty, can’t say he’s ever seen him high on whatever the fuck, Harry never been much for smoking up with Zayn.

“Did…” Niall considers, realizes he really has no idea where Harry’s been, “were you out with Nick?”

“Was out with loads of people,” Harry wriggles out of Niall’s grasp, trailing his fingers up Niall’s leg. “My friend Louis gave me some pills, been making me feel better.”

“Louis?” Niall tries to remember, Zayn’s old mate or whatever, the one who he’d barely met. “He gave you pills?”

Harry nods, slowly. His eyes look bloodshot. 

“Not much,” he says, Niall’s chest tightening and releasing, “not enough. Just need a little help.”

“Harry,” Niall tries to keep his voice even, knows that yelling at Harry about pills would be shit right now, “Zayn was asking about you.”

“Oh.” It’s odd, how it seems like Harry sobers right up. Looks more like how Niall remembers. 

“Yeah Haz,” Niall feels hysterical suddenly, “ _oh_.”

“Can’t stand it,” Harry’s eyes are wide, “he’s so broken.”

“He’s loads better, which you’d know,” Niall takes a deep breath, “if you’d go see him, Harry. He’s your best mate, or that’s what you say, and you haven’t been to see him? Jesus fuck, what _have_ you been doing?”

“Working,” Harry frowns, looking the most upset Niall’s ever seen, “not working. It doesn’t matter.”

“How the fuck doesn’t that matter?” Niall can feel how he’s sounding choked up, his voice coming up thick. He catches Harry’s hand with his own, squeezing. “You can’t even tell me? I’ve been at the pub, Harry. Or at Liam and Zayn’s.”

“Liam’s,” Harry corrects, Niall feeling stunned, “you’ve been at Liam’s.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Niall knows that he’s being too harsh, but he needs something that will pull Harry out of this high, out of this funk. “You need to see Zayn, Harry. Maybe that’s what you need.”

“I need,” Harry starts to say, his voice gone cold, before something stops him. He opens his mouth, looking confused.

“You need what,” Niall squeezes at Harry’s hand again. “Harry. Hazza.”

“I just need you, okay?” Harry looks lost, his face pinched like he’s in pain, his voice coming out so slow, slower than usual. “And Zayn to be okay. I need a lot of things.”

“Okay,” Niall sighs. It’s been a long fucking night and Harry’s crashing, he can tell. And at least he’s home, here with Niall. “You are going to see Zayn tomorrow, yeah? Even if it’s for a quick minute.”

“Fine.” Harry sounds flat. “I’ve got a do with Jeff, so I’ll swing by before.”

“The rest,” Niall smooths Harry’s hair back off of his forehead, “we’ll just -- you have to be home more, yeah? We have to...I don’t know.”

Harry’s already got his eyes closed, snoring louder than he usually does. Niall curls himself around him, wondering how things have gotten so fucked, even as Zayn’s getting better. He thinks about Zayn laughing while Niall played for him, hopes that maybe Harry just has to see that, that it might be enough. 

He stays awake. 

&&&

“It’s for you,” Eleanor says, eyes narrowed as she jerks her thumb over her shoulder, Harry waving behind her. 

She’s clearly annoyed by the interruption, had been revising while Louis played FIFA. Their fucking PS2 barely works; Louis spends more time thumping it on the side than playing a full game. That’s what you get buying something third-hand, he supposes.

“Didn’t think I’d be I’d be seeing you again so soon,” Louis says thinly. 

“Feels like yesterday,” Eleanor says pointedly. It gives him pause. Was it? It can’t have been. Must’ve been Monday, at least, but still. Christ, Harry’s going through his supply like water. 

“Already?” Louis says. “What, sucking cock not bringing in enough so you’ve decided to turn my pills for a profit?”

“What?” Harry’s always looked hilarious when he’s flustered. Louis is glad to see that some things are still the same.

Louis takes a step closer. “That’s a shit thing to do, Styles. Blokes’ve gotten be--”

The threat dies in his mouth as Zayn’s busted-up face comes to mind. He doesn’t bother finishing it. He’s not going to kick Harry’s head in even if he is selling Louis’s shit on the side. 

“Blokes have gotten what?” Harry asks.

Louis laughs at first, thinks Harry’s being a twat right back, going toe-to-toe with him, but then he watches the way Harry blinks slowly, like he actually is stupid. Like he can’t put two and bloody two together.

“Why the fuck are you here?” he asks, trying not to notice the way Harry sways a bit. 

“I’m out.” Harry licks his lips, wipes the back of his mouth on his sleeve. 

“What the fuck happened to all those pills, Harry?” Louis doesn’t know why he cares. Doesn’t know why his stomach churns at the way Harry shrugs, looking for all the world like he’s trying not to laugh. Louis had given him enough for a week at least. 

“Massive spill,” Harry says, laughing hysterically. “Get it? Spill. ‘Cause of pill?” 

Louis has never much cared for Harry’s puns. Harry stops laughing after a minute, seems to realize Louis had never started. He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet and then peeling notes off a stack. It’s more money than Louis has ever seen him carry around. Might be more money than Louis has ever seen at once.

Harry smirks. “Been busy. Think this is enough, though.”

Louis shakes his head as Harry tries to hand the notes to him, takes a step back when Harry presses.

“I’m out,” he lies, Harry scoffing, making something sharp and angry rise up in Louis, “and I wouldn’t fucking sell you any anyway. Not when you’re coming to me, high as fuck, already blown through plenty.”

“Clearly it wasn’t plenty, then.”

Louis raises his eyebrow. “It was plenty.”

“Never bothered you before. I remember how you and Zayn used to be, so gone you didn’t give a fuck about anything.”

“That was different,” Louis says.

Harry’s laugh is downright cruel. “Finally been to see him, you know. Don’t know if you’ve gone back --”

“I haven’t.” Louis crosses his arms, Harry humming like he’d expected as much.

“His face is all yellow now,” Harry laughs to himself, this twisted sound that digs into Louis’s gut, “looks like one of those comic book characters or summat. I guess he’s getting better, that’s what he said, at least, that it looked worse than it really was at this point. Didn’t look human, though. Tried to show me the scar on his back, too --”

“Fuck’s sake, Harry, just,” Louis wants to shut his eyes, as if that’ll help stave off the image of Zayn gone the completely wrong color. Or the worse ones of Zayn when everything was still fresh, his face so swollen Louis had wanted to be sick, “Shut up, would you?”

Harry does, blessedly, stays quiet for nearly a full minute. And then he reaches out, says, “Louis,” sounding near begging. 

“Jesus.” Louis grits his teeth, moving just out of his reach. “Stay here.”

Harry getting high like this was funny at first, in a novel sort of way, but now it’s unsettling. He doesn’t want to send him off with more, but turning him out only ends worse, Harry going somewhere else, ending up with who knows what. It’s why Louis ducks into the toilet and scrapes the markings off a week’s worth of aspirin. 

He knows it’s shit but he can’t bring himself to give Harry more pills. Not today at least.

“Cheers, Lou,” Harry grins when Louis hands him the bag. He wishes he could get out of taking Harry’s money without him thinking something was off. He doesn’t want it. Doesn’t want any part in this anymore.

“You’re a mess, Harry,” Louis says, yanking open the door.

Harry fucking winks before he goes.

**

“Making bank off him, hmm?” Eleanor says.

Louis laughs against the sick feeling rising in his throat. Harry’ll be fine. “Need me to quiz you?”

She shrugs, pushing her notecards aside. “Bit bored of it now.”

“Oh?” He sinks back into the sofa as she slings her leg over his, settling in his lap. “Want me to put on the oven, get a start on dinner?”

They don’t get to eat together much, not with how their schedules are so out of sync. It’s nice when they do, though. Would be proper domestic if they had more than shit food in a shit flat. 

“Hmmm,” Eleanor pretends to think about it as she shakes her hair out of her top knot, grinning when Louis slides his hands from her knees up to her waist, “or we could…”

She doesn’t finish her thought, Louis surging up to kiss the words out of her mouth. He thinks this, if anything, will be enough to distract him from the memory of Harry stumbling back down the hall, fake pills clutched in his hand.

He hopes it will be, in any case.

&&&

Liam texts Zayn after his date climbs out of the limo, leaving him alone in the massive back seat. 

_Just done now i can pick up dinner if u want ? Curry again ? xx_

It’s a few minutes before Zayn responds. 

_K._

Liam rolls his eyes. At least Zayn’s gotten better about responding lately, Liam not having to wait hours before Zayn texts back, if he texts back at all. He’ll even answer his phone most days, actually making an effort to keep it charged and semi-nearby. It hasn’t stopped Liam from worrying while he’s out and Zayn’s back at the flat, but it’s like his mum’s always said: every little bit helps.

He tries not to think about how he’s slowly turning into his mum. It’s best left ignored. At least until he starts crying at the drop of a hat.

His phone vibrates again, startling him. It’s not Zayn, though, only a reminder to check in with the agency. He does it while placing an order for takeaway, hoping Zayn’s real response was more enthusiastic than his text was. He can be so short sometimes. Usually Liam’s alright at figuring out his moods, but lately he’s been -- it’s been trickier.

Logically he knows it’s largely because Zayn’s got a bit of cabin fever, nearly fully mended and still sat at home doing nothing. Only getting out when Liam’s not working, heading to Tesco for groceries or to hang out at Niall’s pub, drinking pints for a discount, the weather still too cold for any of them to be fucking about in the park. Zayn keeps _saying_ that’s what the problem is, at least. It’s stupid not to believe him, and Liam does, really, but he doesn’t understand how that could be the only reason. Not when he was right there when Louis breezed back into their lives like it was any old day.

He still doesn’t know what kind of game Louis is playing, why he’d even come back at all. Liam kind of wishes he had socked him right in the eye because yeah, Zayn says he’s let it all go and yeah, it’s all in the past but that’s not -- Christ, it wasn’t _ancient_ times. It’s close enough to the surface that Liam’s still torn up about it, Zayn leaning in his car window, hollow cheeks and empty eyes, and Zayn, months later, breaking down on his sofa. And all the in between parts too. Liam remembers how bloody _hard_ it had been after everything, for Zayn and for him and Harry, too, the both of them just trying to breathe some life back into him. 

Liam knows he told Zayn he’d made his peace with Louis ages ago, and he had, honestly, but that was before Louis came walking in like it was nothing. Smiling and waiting for Liam to open the door for him, just like old times. 

“Mr. Payne? Would you like me to run in for you?”

Liam looks around, surprised to find they’re idling outside the restaurant. 

“No, I’ve got it,” he tells the driver, undoing his seat belt. “Actually, I’m not far from here, so we’re all set. I’ll walk the rest.”

“You sure? It’s no trouble waiting.”

“Yeah, I’ve got it. Could use the exercise anyway.” He slips out of the car, checking his pockets one last time. “Cheers, Paul.”

“See you next week, kid. Get home safe.” 

The car pulls away smoothly, Liam inhaling deeply once it’s gone. He wasn’t lying; the walk from here will do him good. A bit of fresh air always helps clear his mind.

He’s right. He feels a bit more settled by the time he gets home, calling out, “Hello?” as he pushes open the door.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Zayn comes around the corner, taking the bag from Liam’s hands, “I just found _Toy Story 2_ on telly. It’s like, half over but we can watch the end. Figured you’d want to.”

“Let me --” Liam means to change first, but Zayn’s got plates and forks set up on the coffee table, unopened beers, too. He mentally makes a note: unenthusiastic text, enthusiastic response. Someday he’ll figure out the pattern.

He’s starving, suddenly. It’s so much easier to sit and eat. It’s time he got this suit dry cleaned anyway.

**

“Fuck,” Liam breathes out, his back cracking as he stretches. He rolls off the bed, stepping into the first pair of pants he sees.

“Those’re mine,” Zayn says, coming back from the toilet with a flush still spread across his cheeks, his chest. He snaps the waistband, smirking when Liam hisses, sensitive still.

“Mine’ve seemed to,” Liam waves his hand. He hadn’t paid attention to where they’d gone when he’d kicked them off. Probably trapped in the duvet somewhere. 

“You alright?” He watches Zayn fall back into bed, looking halfway to sleep already. He doesn’t look achy, but it hits at weird times now. “Do you need any ice?”

“‘Cause that turned out so well last time,” Zayn snorts, “peas bloody...” he flings his arm out like Liam doesn’t remember how they’d shot everywhere when the bag burst. They’re still finding them now and it’s been days. 

“It’d probably be alright _now_ ,” Liam argues. They probably should’ve taken a break so Zayn could ice his ribs last time instead of straight shagging on a bag of frozen peas, but. Well. Live and learn, he supposes. 

Zayn’s still laughing a little, laughs even harder when Liam flicks his arm. “Your face when it happened, though!”

“ _Your_ face,” Liam says stupidly. He’s sure they both looked equally startled. 

Zayn catches his hand when Liam goes to flick him again, tugging until Liam sits on the edge of the bed.

“I’m alright,” he says, like he can tell Liam’s watching his breathing, watching his face for any changes. “Could do with some pants, though. It’s a bit cold in here.”

He sticks out his lower lip shamelessly, makes his eyes big and round and pathetic as possible. Liam’s sure it’s a look he’s stolen straight from Harry, even though Harry’s always insisted it’s all Liam’s fault.

“Lazy arsehole,” Liam mutters, Zayn twitching out of the way when Liam goes to pinch his lip.

“Thank you, Liam,” Zayn beams as Liam goes for the joggers sticking out from under the bed, managing to upset a small stack of books Zayn’s got stashed under there. 

“We should get like, a shelf,” Liam says, fishing them all out, making a neater pile out of the way of everything. It’d be easier than Loki knocking over the stacks that are slowly accumulating in each room. He doesn’t understand where they’re coming from, though he likes the way Zayn’s slowly taking over every corner of the flat.

Zayn hums, pulling on the joggers. “Oh, hey,” he holds out his hand, “I forgot about that one.”

Liam points to each book, waiting for Zayn to nod so he can hand the right one over, Zayn pulling out that course catalog Liam’d marked up months back. He hadn’t realized Zayn’d kept it. He’d always thought Zayn just nixed the idea outright.

“Bit late now, innit?” Zayn smooths back one dog-eared page. Liam can’t read it from here; it probably is too late, though, all those courses half-over by now.

“Should get the new set soon,” Liam says, Zayn shrugging and putting it back into his other book, setting them both on the nightstand, “they’ll probably have more of the same.”

“We’ll see.” Zayn shuffles down the bed, looking over like he’s waiting for Liam to come up. It’s easy enough to oblige, Liam mindful not to knee him in the chest as he crawls over him. “Need to be able to afford it first. No,” he says, before Liam can start, “I don’t want you to pay for it, you’re already -- you’re paying enough. I’ll just…”

“There’s lots you could do.” He knows Zayn’s not keen to start back, that he hasn’t tried again, not since that night he’d gone out alone and scared Liam half to death. He’d be lying if he said part of him wasn’t glad about it, that he feels like going back to it might be tempting fate. So many worse things could happen.

“There’s really not,” Zayn says, Liam not needing to look to know he’s rolling his eyes. There’s plenty of options, waiting tables or… working in shops. Liam doesn’t know. It’s late and his brain’s finally slowing down, everything going syrupy as the afterglow fades. There are better times to get into it.

“Well,” Liam fits himself along Zayn’s side, throwing one of his legs over Zayn’s, glad that it’s been long enough that they can do this again, that he can get close without worrying he’s putting too much pressure on any of Zayn’s worst bruises, “we’ll figure it out, at any rate.”

Zayn hums again, turning his head enough to brush his lips against Liam’s forehead. 

“Don’t even know what I’d want to do, if we’re being honest.”

Liam squeezes his hip gently, tracing his thumb around the heart there, “Loads to figure out, then, that’s all.”

**

He’s in the middle of folding laundry when his phone goes off, Liam expecting it to be Zayn, lost in the aisles of the supermarket again. It’s not, though, only a message from Niall.

_In the area u guys home ?_

Liam tells him to come by, chucking the rest of the clothes back into the basket. It’s not like his mum’s going to come by and yell at them for having wrinkled shirts any time soon. They’ll get folded eventually. Maybe. Or else they’ll just live out of this basket. It works out either way.

Niall’s message had seemed normal enough, which is why Liam’s surprised when he comes in looking off, a furrow setting up shop in his forehead. 

“Alright, Nialler? Want a beer?” he offers, already grabbing one for himself. Niall accepts readily, drinking half in one go. Liam pretends not to notice, leading them to the lounge, flipping on a footie game. 

“Zayn around?” Niall asks, looking around like he’s waiting for him to pop out any second.

“Nah, he’s doing the shopping. Be back in a bit, probably, if you want to stick around?”

Niall shrugs but doesn’t say anything.

Liam tries to watch the match but it’s hard when Niall’s so fidgety next to him. He’s gotten too used to Zayn, he supposes, who’s always so still, even when his mind’s going fast as anything. With Niall it’s easier to tell. 

“You’re sure you’re alright?” he asks at the half. It’s not his place, probably, but Niall’s clearly stressed over something, chewing on his fingernail until Liam’s sure he’ll pull it away all bloodied. Liam knows he and Harry’ve been working double to make rent lately. He’d help a bit if only they’d let him.

Niall sighs heavily, his face going blank for a moment before he sighs again, turning so he’s facing Liam more.

“You know Louis, right?” he asks. “Harry’s friend?” 

“Harry’s?” Liam tries not to laugh. “Yeah, I know him.”

Niall’s frown deepens. “So like… what’s his whole deal? Do you know?”

“What’s Louis’s deal?” Liam doesn’t know why his voice gets so high, but it does. It’s a weird question, he thinks, one he doesn’t know how to answer quite right. “How do you mean?”

Niall shrugs. “Just like, I dunno, seems like he came out of the blue, right?”

Liam does laugh then. At least someone else has noticed it’s a bit odd, even if it’s Niall, who doesn’t know Louis from a hole in the wall. 

“I guess, yeah,” he says. “Me and him were friends a long time back, like, a _long_ time back. Knew him when I was just washing dishes at this club and he was just this twat sneaking in through the kitchen all the time.”

Niall looks surprised to hear it, like he hadn’t suspected that. It’s fair, Liam supposes. It feels like something that was such a long time ago he could forget it, too. If Louis wasn’t so dead set on reminding everyone of his existence.

“Thought he was just some bloke Harry and Zayn knew,” Niall says. 

“We all did,” Liam shrugs. “Louis and Zayn, like… they were _together_ , yeah? For a bit -- a long while, actually -- but then it went to pieces so Zayn moved in with Harry, and Louis… well, we lost touch with him. Didn’t see him again until Zayn got hurt.”

It’s putting it nicely, Liam knows, but it’s not his story to tell. Not the ugly bits, at least. 

“I knew he and Zayn lived together,” Niall talks slow like he’s trying to fit all the puzzle pieces together, “I didn’t realize…”

“It was a rough go,” Liam says honestly, taking another pull of his beer. “It’s better now, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Niall’s laugh sounds fucked-up, fake. Liam doesn’t like it. “Didn’t lose touch fully, though.”

“No,” Liam remembers Louis saying Harry’d checked in from time to time, how he’s the one who’d told Louis about Zayn’s accident in the first place, “apparently not. Harry’d never mentioned that, though.”

“Harry’d never mentioned what?” Zayn asks, startling them both. Liam hadn’t heard the door at all.

“That he was keeping up with Louis,” Liam says, shifting so Zayn can fit on the sofa, too. 

“Right.” Zayn holds himself stiffly, but not like he does when his ribs hurt. It’s like he’s gone rigid all over. “He’s still keeping up, then?”

“Seems like,” Niall shrugs. “Said they’ve been hanging out, that Louis gave him some pills or whatever, I was just trying to like, sort it out.”

Liam feels cold, like someone’s dunked him in an ice bath. Fucking hell.

“Harry said that?” Zayn asks, his face unreadable, his tone clipped. Niall nods. 

“It’s fine,” Liam says, not sure if he’s talking to Niall or to Zayn or to himself, “Louis wouldn’t…” He trails off, not knowing what he was going to say. Louis has dealt longer than Liam’s known him. Louis has done a lot of fucked up things. Liam doesn’t know what he would or wouldn’t do anymore. He’s always liked to push, see how much he can get away with and then some.

“Like I said, just trying to get a handle on some things. I only met him the once and that was like, half a second.” Niall shakes his head, shifting in his seat. His constant fidgeting’s got Liam on edge too now, even with Zayn stock-still on his other side. “Thought I had a handle on Haz, but.”

Niall picks at his beer label, his lips pressed together like he’s thinking.

“But?” Zayn prompts, when the silence stretches.

“Nothing,” Niall shakes his head without looking up, “he’s just been… busy? Lately, I guess you’d say. I assumed he’d been over here with you a lot, but then I found out that wasn’t the case, and…”

The label tears in half as Niall shrugs. Liam turns, looking for Zayn’s reaction. He’s completely stone-faced. Niall sighs quietly.

“I dunno,” he says, “it’s all… I dunno. Guess it’s something else he’d forgotten to mention, right?” Niall makes a sound that’s almost a laugh. 

Liam can’t fake one at all, not with his heart thudding loudly in his ears, his mind stuck in a loop. Harry and Louis and pills. They’re all words he recognizes but it’s like his brain can’t make sense of them, not when they’re strung together like that.

Niall knocks back the rest of his drink, exhaling when he’s done, shaking his head like he’s clearing his head out.

“Anyway,” he claps his hands on his thighs and smiles, a real one, even if it’s small, “I’m already late as fuck for work, so Bressie’s gonna be in a strop. Soz for the like, interrogation, lads. See you in a bit, yeah?”

“Sounds good.” Liam feels stunned as he watches Niall scramble to leave, the door shutting seeming louder than any sound he’s ever heard in his life.

The flat hasn’t had a chance to settle into silence again before Zayn stands and says, calmly, “Get the car.”

**

Zayn frowns when Louis’s van isn’t parked where it always was. “Fuck.”

Liam stares at the empty lot, cursing under his breath, so upset he feels like he could scream. Louis would come back only to disappear again. He should’ve known.

He feels stupid for letting it happen. Wishes he’d slammed the door in his face that first night, even though that probably wouldn’t have helped. At least not with Harry, if Harry’s been seeing him secretly all along. 

“Fuck,” he says, leaning forward, resting his head on the steering wheel. Zayn’s distracted, patting his back robotically as he stares out the window. 

“Think we should drive around a bit.” Zayn’s jaw is set when Liam looks over. He seems angry, too, but where Liam wants to shout and hit something, Zayn’s jaw is set, every line in his body gone sharp and hard, like he’s simmering with rage. “We have to find him, Liam.”

Liam fixes his grip on the wheel, putting the car in drive again. 

“I know,” he says. “We will.”

&&&

Zayn digs his nails into his palms as Liam drives down another street, still no Louis. He wishes he’d thought to bring his cigs, could use one or four right about now. 

“The park?” Liam suggests, sounding lost. He’s pale, has been ever since Niall’d said Haz was getting pills from Louis, which… fucking hell. Zayn was nearly sick all over the sofa, had only managed to rein it in for Niall’s sake. Just. Harry? Of all people? He’d turned Louis down every time he offered, back when they used to hang out, all three of them.

“Zayn?” 

“Soz, yeah, uh,” Zayn rubs his forehead, thinking. It’s not park weather, Louis probably won’t be there. Not that he’s got a fucking clue where Louis spends his time these days. “Let’s just go to Eleanor’s, see if she knows where he could be.”

**

He’s not been here in ages, hasn’t seen El since before he moved out of the van, but it’s worth a shot. If she’s still in the same fucking flat, even.

Zayn makes the trip to her door on muscle memory alone, Liam waiting in the car after Zayn’d told him it’d be faster if only one of them went. Get in and get out, figure out where Louis is quick as possible.

He bangs on the door, taking a step back when he hears footsteps inside. The last thing he’s expecting is for the door to wrench open and reveal Louis standing on the other side, his eyes going wide when he sees that it’s Zayn, both of them struck dumb for a moment.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Louis asks, eyes narrowing.

“What the fuck are you doing with Harry?” Zayn counters, recovering quickly enough to glare back. 

“Harry?” Louis makes a face. “What are you on about?”

“You selling him pills, you fucking twat,” Zayn shoves his way inside, not caring that Louis makes an objecting noise. Louis shoved his way into Liam’s flat while Zayn’s face was still fucked as hell. This is fair. It’s fucking _Harry_ of all people. 

“Oh, nice, come into my home and call me names. Wonderful. Lovely to see you again, too, Zayn.”

“Your home?” Zayn scoffs. “So you’re living with El now?”

“Yes,” Louis says sharply. “What? You’re the only one who can get sick of living in a van? Didn’t realize you had a monopoly on proper walls and beds.”

“Oh, come off it.” Zayn rolls his eyes, the anger that’s been burning inside him since he walked in on Niall and Liam’s chat finally coming to the surface. He didn’t come here to bicker over Louis’s latest accommodation. “Just tell me if you’ve seen Harry.”

“Today? Or ever?”

“Louis.” Zayn grits his teeth. He’s not in the mood for Louis’s stupid games.

“What?” Louis is the picture of innocence. Zayn clenches his fists. “Seen him loads. Not today, though. Not in a few days now.”

“Why?”

“Why what? Haven’t I seen him?” Louis shrugs. “Guess he got sick of what I was offering.”

“Why _Harry_ , Louis?”

Louis fucking laughs, eyes wide again. “He came to _me_ , Zayn.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“What, Harry comes to me, crying about how he wants to forget, and I’m supposed to turn him out just because _you’ve_ decided he’s off limits?”

“You’re supposed to have some fucking _decency_ , Louis. It’s _Harry_.”

“You keep saying that like it means something, Zayn. Harry’s a grown lad, he can do whatever he wants, and if he wants to buy some pills and then he wants to do it again, who am I to judge.” Louis takes a step forward. “Who are _you_ to judge, hmm?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. That’s different and Louis knows it. Knows how Harry, of all people, has never been the type to want something to take the edge off. 

“Don’t know why I expected better from you,” he mutters. He doesn’t, is the thing. It’s his own fault for expecting anything at all from Louis. 

“What was that?” Louis cocks his head to the side, his face cold, hardened. It’s a look Zayn remembers all too well.

“Said I don’t know why I expected better from you.” Zayn looks him square in the eye as he says it, something like hurt flashing across Louis’s face. Good, Zayn thinks. It’s about time. 

“Yeah, well, that’s on you.”

Zayn scoffs, making Louis fling his arms up a bit.

“What, Zayn? It’s _my_ fault you’re a bloody romantic? Because I never pretended to be anything other than what I was, face-value.”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” Zayn says. “Couldn’t even pretend to be a decent fucking human being for one night, let me --”

“Let you what? Move in with me? Eat my fucking food? Smoke my weed? I was _more_ than decent to you, Zayn.”

“You left me in that fucking library, you cunt!” Zayn shouts, so loud Louis reels back a bit. “You left me there and you were shit _long_ before that -- no, you were and we both fucking know it.”

Louis rolls his eyes again, crossing his arms and saying, “Never heard you complaining.”

It knocks the slightest bit of wind out of Zayn’s sails because Louis is right, he never had complained. Hadn’t thought to. Hadn’t wanted to, really, was so caught up in everything that the good overwhelmed the bad. Until suddenly it didn’t.

“Still wasn’t right,” he says, “I wasn’t some --”

“Oh, and what _was_ right?” Louis talks right over him, getting loud now, getting angry like Zayn is. “Tell me, Zayn, how long did it take you to jump into bed with Liam? Ten whole minutes?”

Zayn blinks, stunned. “Are you serious right now?” He doesn’t recognize his own voice, it’s so low and cold. Louis takes a step back; Zayn hadn’t realized they were standing so close, shouting in each other’s faces.

“Louis,” he doesn’t know how his voice isn’t shaking right now, how his whole body isn’t shaking, “you fucked me and then you ran away and when you came back you acted like it was _nothing_. Like _I_ was nothing. Like…” Zayn shakes his head, looking at the ceiling as he blows out his breath. “You really fucked me up, Lou.”

“I --”

“No,” he holds up his hand, doesn’t want to hear his excuses, doesn’t want to hear anything at this point, “you did. You need to know that. Because I was in love with you, yeah?” Louis looks away, biting his lip, but Zayn keeps going, “And I get it, that you couldn’t deal with it, with us, or whatever. But it was a long fucking time before I was okay again. So don’t fucking say that what me and Liam have -- that’s nothing to do with what happened between you and me. Absolutely nothing.” 

It’s in spite of everything, really, Zayn thinks, Liam sticking around through all the rocky bits. There’s still rocky bits and he’s still around, unwavering. Zayn sighs, Louis still refusing to look at him. 

The silence stretches out. He feels a bit of the fight drain out of him now that he’s said his piece, doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. Knows Louis well enough to know that he’d rather chew his own arm off than apologize. Zayn doesn’t want it, anyway, doesn’t know what difference it would make. They’ve both moved on already. There’s no point in sticking around any longer.

He’s halfway to the door when Louis says, “Haven’t seen Harry in a few days. Sold him scratched-up aspirin instead of the usual.”

“Okay,” Zayn nods, not sure if that’s better or worse. If Louis looking out for Harry after all is a good sign or means that things are fucked beyond belief. Jesus. Either way. “If he comes back --”

“I’ll tell him you were asking after him.” 

Zayn looks back. He wants Louis to promise he won’t sell Haz anything anymore, but he’s not stupid. He knows that won’t happen.

“Cheers,” he says, nodding. Louis finally meets his eye. He nods once, turning away before Zayn goes.

**

Zayn startles awake when Loki jumps on him, paws catching Zayn right in the gut. 

“Loki!” Liam whispers, trying to snap quietly, “Leave him alone!”

“It’s alright, I’m up.” Zayn digs his fingers into Loki’s scruff, turning his cheek so he doesn’t get slobbered on. 

“Sorry,” Liam says as Zayn sits up, disoriented. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, vaguely remembers watching telly with Liam after they’d come back from Eleanor’s. From Louis’s, apparently. It’d been hard to pay attention to whatever was on, too busy remembering Louis’s crossed arms, the thin line of his mouth as Zayn had shouted at him.

In the car on the way back he’d promised Liam he was alright and he meant it. Still means it. Seeing Louis wasn’t the devastating emotional earthquake he’d always assumed it would be. He’d been fine after Louis showed up in their flat and he’s fine now, after running into Louis stone-sober. He’s glad it happened, that he got a chance to air it all out. Even though the sharp pain of it all faded long ago, it’s still -- it was good to get it out in the open, once and for all. 

“No big,” Zayn pushes Loki off his lap so he can stand, “it’s dinner time, innit?”

He smiles as Loki goes mental at the mention of dinner, running laps around the table, knocking into Zayn’s legs like he’s trying to herd him toward his bowl, the same routine as always. Liam watches them go, that look on his face he used to get when Zayn was sick, poorly disguised concern. Zayn reaches for his hand as he goes past, squeezing his fingers once. He really is alright.

Scooping food into Loki’s bowl, he realizes that the thing is, he’s _been_ alright. For ages now. That even after he ended up in hospital and he was a right mess, it wasn’t the broken, beaten-down kind he’d been when he’d moved in with Harry. When he’d spent that first weekend here, sat on Liam’s couch, trying to ignore everything that was going on with him and Louis. He’s come so far. They all have, but him and Liam especially.

“I started dinner,” Liam says over his shoulder, “didn’t know if you’d be hungry. It’ll keep if you’re not up for it.”

Zayn brushes his hands on his jeans, turning and watching Liam lift the lid off a pot so he can stir whatever’s inside, humming all the while. It used to be Zayn thought he was a bit dead inside, that Louis had wrung out all the important parts of Zayn’s heart. Times like these, when Liam’s moving about quietly in the kitchen, mumbling under his breath and trying to keep Loki at bay so Zayn can kip… Zayn’s heart hurts in a different way now. A good, too-big-for-his-chest way. 

“Smells great,” he says, hoping Liam doesn’t realize how long he’s been stood there, staring.

“Just spag bol,” Liam shrugs as Zayn starts to set the table, “figured we hadn’t had it in a while. Have to make sure we don’t leave it all on the floor this time.”

“Loki disagrees, I’m sure,” Zayn laughs, Liam’s eyes crinkling up before he turns back to the hob. He’s got the sleeves of his jumper rolled up, just enough that Zayn can see the chevrons on his forearm as he seasons the sauce. He still remembers when the ink was fresh, remembers Liam’s beaming face as he’d shown them off clear as day.

“Hey.” The kitchen’s small enough that Liam doesn’t get a chance to turn around before Zayn’s crowded up behind him, curling his arms around his waist. Liam’s free hand covers Zayn’s automatically.

“You want a taste?” Liam holds the spoon up, Zayn shaking his head, face tucked against Liam’s shoulder. He takes a minute, breathing in the combination of laundry detergent and cologne he’s gotten so used to. Liam tests the sauce himself, making a face. “Think it’s too oregano-y."

“I -- god, you’re my best mate,” Zayn says in a rush. He’s not sure if he’s ever said it out loud; he needs to make sure Liam knows. Liam turns in his arms, only putting the spoon down at the last second. “Obviously, like, but --” 

His hands had started shaking on the walk out of Louis’s flat, hadn’t stopped until Liam reached over the gear shift and held them. He hadn’t let go the whole drive home. Zayn looks down at them now, settled on Liam’s hips, steady as can be.

“It’s you and me, Liam,” he says, looking up, Liam watching him with wide eyes, “you know that right? Like this, us, you’re it --”

Liam’s smiling when he kisses Zayn, taking him by surprise, licking into Zayn’s mouth like he’s trying to swallow his words and keep them forever. Zayn would laugh but he can’t, the happiness trapped in his chest the same way Liam’s got him trapped against the counter, Zayn not even realizing they’d moved. He slips his hands under Liam’s jumper, scratches his nails against his back until Liam groans, his hips pushing into Zayn’s with something closer to intent.

“Me too,” Liam pulls back, his eyes so bright they’re nearly sparkling, “I mean, you’re it for me, too. And that you’re my best friend, too. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Zayn doesn’t think he could stop smiling if he tried, leaning back in, kissing Liam until his mouth goes numb with it, his back sore from where the counter is digging in.

“Shit,” Liam tries to step away, doesn’t get far because of Zayn’s hands on his arse, “dinner’s gonna burn, Zayn. We have to --”

“Just turn it off.” Zayn lets go, Liam frowning as he stirs the sauce. It doesn’t smell burnt yet, they’re fine. He crowds up behind Liam again, watches the way gooseflesh rises up along his neck when Zayn’s beard catches his skin. “We’ll reheat it in a bit.”

“Yeah,” Liam reaches for the knob, turning off the burner, “it’ll keep.”

**

Liam comes into the room, trading Zayn a cuppa for his cig. The tea’s Liam’s, made far too sweet, but Zayn drinks some anyway, watching Liam lean out the window, lips pursed as he exhales.

“What’d he say?” Liam nods to the phone Zayn’s turning over in his hand. He hadn’t been on long, Niall rushing to get to work. Zayn feels shit for not calling sooner, but he was distracted, caught up in everything else that’s been going on.

“Haz is out with his American bloke, I guess. Hasn’t come back yet, but that’s,” Zayn shrugs, “that’s not unusual. Told him what Lou said, about the aspirin. Niall seemed relieved.”

Liam trades him again, waiting for Zayn to take a drag before he says, “And?”

“He says he thinks he’s got it -- got a handle on it, I mean. For now.” Zayn takes another drag, blows it out the window. “He was heading to the pub, didn’t have much time to chat.”

Liam leans against the wall, his free hand resting on Zayn’s knee. “Do you really think he’s got a handle on it?”

“I dunno.” Zayn stares out the window. He’ll text Haz in a bit, play dumb, act like he’s touching base, see what comes up. Beyond that, though. “I hope so because I just -- I don’t know what else to do right now.”

He stubs his cig out against the bricks before letting go, watching it bounce off Mrs. Clemence’s empty flower box as it falls. He smiles sadly at Liam, shrugging. He doesn’t know what to do at all.

&&&

The pills aren’t doing anything anymore. Harry can’t decide if that’s a good or a bad thing. Good, he supposes. He’d always thought that he could never handle anything more than alcohol, had always hated weed and other drugs. The pill Louis gave him the night everything happened was a weird experience; he’d felt nothing, then he felt dull like he’d been filtered into black and white, then he’d felt only the good things. 

He didn’t mean for it to keep happening, but everything is still different and rubbish. It’s like his brain won’t stop when he’s not taken anything, can only think about everything terrible over and over again. Zayn. How maybe Zayn’s going to leave. How maybe Harry is going to be rubbish where Niall’s concerned, how the balance could go to shit. He’d been alone when Caz was done with him, Zayn hadn’t been around then at all. He feels sort of like they’ve helped each other out so much. And Zayn got hurt anyway. 

Seeing him that night, the night after, and then days later, and then again. It didn’t seem like Zayn was getting better, not really. Harry knows how Zayn gets, how he was holding himself just as carefully as he had back when Harry had first met him. It reminded him too much of back then, when Harry hadn’t realized just how much Zayn was dealing with. And Louis was there, too. Harry hasn’t asked Louis what they talked about; he just knows that he feels dreadful for bringing Louis back into Zayn’s life _now_ , after everything. 

The last time he saw Zayn, after Niall had made him go, he kept waiting. For Zayn to ask about Louis. To be upset. Harry still remembers how Zayn had told him how he’d feel if he ever saw Louis again, and Harry had sent Louis right to him. He’d smiled instead, said that he missed Harry. His face was so yellow. Zayn even texted him earlier, just checking in like normal, and it makes Harry feel more and more rubbish. He misses him.

And Niall. Harry wants to be with him all the time. He wants to rewind back to when everything was great and everyone was happy. It wasn’t that long ago; he thinks maybe it could happen.

He takes the pills so he won’t be shit when he’s working, and he’s spent so much of what he’s been making on the pills. So he keeps working more. Staying out past when Grimmy’s already paid him. Hitting a few extra blokes if he’s not got a gig. 

Niall’s not home when he gets in from going out with Jeff, at the pub according to the fridge. He’d asked Harry to start writing where he is so Niall won’t worry, had started doing it himself like he’s hoping Harry will follow along. Harry knows that Niall’s cross with him. Harry doesn’t know how to stop. 

He checks the time. It’s early yet. He could just go to Louis’s, just get a couple to make sure they won’t still be working. He’ll take that as a sign he should stop. That things are going to get better.

 _Out working extra!!_ Harry writes, pausing before adding _Be home early xxxx_

**

He’s just about given up when Louis answers, looking disheveled.

“Harry,” he says, sighing heavily before rubbing his hand over his face, “you just don’t quit, do you?”

“Just coming by to say hello?” Harry tries, grinning so Louis will give in. It doesn’t work on Louis, not ever, but Harry’s going to keep trying. 

“I’m out,” Louis’s backing up though, opening the door further so Harry can slip inside. Harry thinks it’s nice that Louis doesn’t live in the van anymore. Not that he’d ever seen the inside of it, not back then. But he had a pretty good guess that the inside matched the outside. That even the small cramped flat is something like home to Louis, that he moves in it like he’s comfortable. It’s an odd thing, to see Louis this way. 

“Just…” Harry sits on the shit sofa, wriggling about until he’s not got springs digging into his back. “A couple.”

“Fuck.” Louis sits on the chair across from him. He’s got his joggers tucked into his socks. “Harry, you’re being a twat.”

“That’s really interesting,” Harry can feel it, the frustration that only seems to pop up around Louis, “coming from you.”

Louis’s eyes get wide, his eyebrows raised. “Alright there.”

“It’s just,” Harry feels uncomfortable suddenly, this worry that Louis won’t help him out. “they don’t work anymore, I think maybe I’ve been doing too much. I think I need to see, like? So just a couple.”

“Just a couple,” Louis rolls his eyes, takes a deep breath before he continues. “Harry. What the fuck are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Harry holds his breath, scraping at the edge of his cross tattoo with his fingernail to try and settle himself. 

“I mean this,” Louis points at him, like Harry’s a problem. “This tragic need pills to survive bullshit. This isn’t you.”

“You don’t know me,” Harry starts to say, but Louis cuts him off.

“Maybe I don’t,” Louis shrugs, “but Zayn does, and Liam does, and those two are not fucking about with anyone who isn’t worth it.”

Harry stares at him, at his dirty hair and few days’ worth of stubble. His eyes are the most open Harry’s ever seen them. 

“I’d know that,” Louis adds, the familiar edge to his voice, “wouldn’t I now.”

“I’m not the same as you,” Harry fumbles with his words under Louis’s sharp gaze, feeling like he’s got a headache coming on. “Just wanted to see.”

“Alright,” Louis gets up, stands there until Harry does the same. He supposes he’s not getting the pills, then. He’s not sure if he even wants them, anymore. He doesn’t really know anything.

“Thanks, I guess?” Harry tries, following Louis to the door. 

Louis laughs, his head turned where Harry can’t see.

“Don’t thank me, Hazza. Thank Zayn, storming over here like he’s about to avenge you just because I sold you some pills.”

“Zayn was here?” Harry asks, feeling uneasy. He’s not sure if he believes it. Zayn’s been texting him like normal, even though he’s known the whole time? 

Louis doesn’t answer, a grim expression on his face as he pointedly swings the door open.

“And by the way,” Louis adds after Harry’s already out in the hall, “those last ones I gave you were just aspirin. Go home, Hazza.”

Harry turns, unsure what to make of the expression on Louis’s face. 

“The real ones won’t work,” Louis closes the door slow enough that Harry can just make out the rest, “not for you.”

**

“So glad you answered, Styles.” Grimmy’s yelling at him over the loud noise of the club they’re in, a grin on his face. 

“Of course.” Harry forces a smile, taking another shot from the bartender and making a face after he downs it. 

He’d been wandering, didn’t want to go home just yet, not if Niall wasn’t there. Didn’t know what Liam and Zayn were up to. He’d felt like maybe he needed to just clear his head right out, determined to do it without the pills. He feels haunted, almost, by the look on Louis’s face. He’d seemed so sincere. Or something. 

Now, though. Nick had called at just the right time, when he was almost about to turn back to the empty flat and all this thoughts. Had a last minute do and wanted some company. His whole group of friends were there at first. Harry wonders if they’re his friends too. Had never really questioned that, before. They all know what he does, that Nick pays him. A couple of them have paid him too, for one offs. It’s settling over him odd, now. Feels real unfair to Nick, these thoughts he’s having. Real unfair to himself. To Niall. 

“Harry Styles,” Nick’s grinning at him after Harry’s fifth shot of the night, can really feel it now after ages on the dance floor. He follows Nick over to the corner booth, feeling unsteady on his feet. It’s like the room’s spinning a bit.

“Nick Grimshaw,” Harry trips over the words, Nick laughing at him and toying with his quiff. He looks so happy. Harry’s good at his job, at least.

“Out on the floor there,” Nick takes a sip of his drink, then pushes it toward Harry, “you looked like a proper pop star.”

“Yeah?” Harry wipes at his mouth; he doesn’t know how he ended up with half the drink down his front. 

“Yeah,” Nick winks, “gonna start calling you that.”

“Gonna start,” Harry pauses, feeling like he’s moving underwater when he shifts closer to Nick, “gonna start...answering to it.”

Nick’s eyes are bright. “You’re a mess, popstar.”

“More than you know,” Harry means for it to come across as a come on, but it hangs out of his mouth horribly instead, made worse when Nick leans forward to kiss him.

“Uh,” Harry tries to cover up the noise he makes with a cough, leaning away, “feel a bit sick, soz.” 

He does, just not for the reasons Nick thinks.

“Another?” Harry slurs, just to smooth the crease off of Nick’s brow. 

**

“No Nick, ‘m so good,” Harry curls his arms around Nick’s neck from behind, watching Nick text the car service. “So good.”

“Don’t think you are,” Nick shakes him off, spinning around and gripping Harry’s forearm. “You’re getting sloppy, Styles.”

“I’m a mess, right?” Harry cocks out his hip, nearly falling over. Shit. He hadn’t realized the floor was spinning so much. 

“Yes, you are.” Nick nods. “Listen, I’ll pay for your car, okay? Think you need a bit of a break.”

“Do I?” Harry leans on Nick heavily as they make their way out the club. He’d tossed Nick off under the table, told him all about the colors he keeps seeing everywhere. So bright. That lady’s red coat, that man’s green shoes. How Zayn’s face was so yellow. How blue Niall’s eyes are.

“Nick, Nick,” Harry tugs at his lapels, trying to roll out of Nick’s grip when he opens the door of the waiting car. “I study rainbows, Nick.”

“Yeah,” Nick shakes his head, looking sad, looking how Harry feels, “alright then. Off you go.”

“See you Saturday next,” Harry leans out the car before Nick can shut the door, “for the party, yeah? We can get tacos.”

“Think you need a longer break than that, popstar.” Nick closes the door, his palm flat against the window for a moment before it pulls away. 

Harry digs around in his back pocket on the drive home, counts out the wad of notes Nick had shoved in there. It’s twice as much as usual. 

He makes the driver stop twice on the way so he can puke on the side of the road. It doesn’t help.

**

Niall’s awake when he gets in, sat on the sofa with his hair everywhere. His face is blotchy, eyes red rimmed like he’s been crying.

“Harry,” he says in a rush, when Harry closes the door as quietly as he’s able. “This is early?”

“Nick called,” Harry steps carefully as he can, taking bigger steps and raising his knees higher so as not to fall. 

“Of course,” Niall laughs to himself, even though Harry doesn’t think he’d just made a joke. “Hazza, it’s four in the mornin’.”

“You’ve been crying,” Harry climbs on Niall’s lap, pushing at Niall’s cheeks until he leans back, making a face, suddenly worried that -- “Niall, is Zayn okay?”

“What?” Niall looks well confused for a moment, his arms loose around Harry’s waist. “No, Harry, he -- I’m upset about _you_ , jesus.”

“I’m fine,” Harry says automatically, feeling the bile rise in his throat again, “no one should be crying over me, Niall.”

“Harry,” Niall starts, but then Harry can’t deal with it anymore, untangling himself from Niall and nearly toppling over in his rush to the loo. He nearly misses, crashing his knee against the tile and vomiting so hard his head hurts.

He’s barely been at it when Niall’s cool fingers are brushing against his hairline, gathering his hair where it’s hanging in his face. He vomits again, feels it burn all the way up to his eyes this time. There are tears on his face, Niall’s other hand rubbing circles on his back.

“Harry, you have to _tell me_ ,” Niall whispers, his lips pressed to Harry’s temple. 

“Niall,” Harry means to take a deep breath, but it comes out as a sob that echoes in the loo instead, “I’m not fine.”

Niall hums, keeps rubbing at Harry’s back while he cries. He wishes he had something else to tell him. He wishes he knew what to tell himself. 

He closes his eyes, sitting up so he can curl around Niall on the floor. It’s the last thing he remembers doing before everything gets slow.


	6. the place where we weren't stitched up quite right

“‘lo?” Zayn’s voice is low and rough when he answers, and Niall looks again at the clock they keep on the kitchen counter, the one shaped like a frog that Haz found one day at some shop. Half seven. He feels shit for calling, but he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Zayn, soz,” Niall sighs, “I just --”

“Is he okay?” Zayn sounds more awake suddenly, a slight panic evident in his voice. Niall can hear the low rumble of Liam’s speaking in the background, Zayn saying something he can’t make out.

“Yeah, he’s --” Niall realizes that he doesn’t know if he is okay, and he can’t hold back the sob that escapes then. “I don’t know, Zayn.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Zayn breathes out, and Niall can hear Liam clear as day then, in that voice he gets when he’s trying to solve a problem.

“Niall,” he calls out, “we’re coming.”

“No, it’s fine,” Niall bites his lip, keeping his eye on the closed bedroom door, “I mean, it’s not _fine_ , but.”

“Liam,” Zayn says, then after a garbled response from Liam, “okay, babe, I’ll just --”

“I know it’s early, mate,” Niall tries, almost sure that Liam would probably fly over here faster than one of the superheroes he and Zayn love so much, half expects him to already be knocking down the door to the flat.

“Fuck, it’s fine,” Zayn sighs, “Li’s just taking Loki out, tell me what’s happening and I can talk him down or up, depending.”

He laughs, just a quick exhale like he can’t help it; Niall’s chest aches. 

“He came back last night, late. I,” Niall runs his hands through his hair, can hear Zayn breathing steadily on the other end. Zayn’s the best one for listening when it comes to that, never ready to interrupt with a good story like Hazza or already turning the gears in his head how to fix it like Liam. 

“We’ve been trying, I’ve had us both leaving notes of where we were. Thought that with what you said about Louis and the fake pills, it’d taper off or something. But then he’d left a note, said he’d be back early. Four, Zayn. Four in the morning. Came in so pissed he was vomiting for a solid hour.”

There’s a silence, then Zayn speaks.

“Pissed?” Zayn clears his throat. “Or…”

“No, just that, he’d mumbled something about going to see Louis and how the pills don’t work and Louis wouldn’t give him any anyway, he was pretty blacked out at that point.”

“Well,” Zayn says, “at least it was that. Still.”

“Still.” Niall holds his breath. “Zayn, he cried. Said he wasn’t fine.”

There’s a soft sound on the other end, and Niall doesn’t have to pretend he’s imagining that he can make out a quiet sob, like it’s something Zayn’s been holding in. Niall’s seen him well up plenty over the course of his recovery, especially in those first few days when Liam would need help to ease Zayn over and change out his bandages. Even then it was a silent affair, sometimes just a tear that would track down over his cheek as he was pushed to the limits of his pain tolerance. 

Niall rubs at his own swollen eyes and waits. 

“I should’ve known,” Zayn finally says, his voice thick, “had just assumed it was him trying to make it work since I wasn’t able to chip in. I should’ve known.”

“I think we all should’ve,” Niall decides to go with honesty, “maybe you most of all, more likely me. Either way, I want to do something. I don’t know what to do, Zayn.”

“I can come,” Zayn says slowly, “but maybe not right at the mo? I think….maybe Hazza’s mad at me, in a way. Don’t wanna make it worse.”

“Zayn, that can’t be true.” Just because it was what happened to Zayn that seemed to trigger all of this, doesn’t mean it’s Zayn. Niall knows enough, how much of Harry’s life that doesn’t seem to affect him in certain ways. 

“Don’t know how it isn’t?” Zayn at least sounds a little unsure this time. 

“Maybe if I can talk to him,” Niall pauses, worrying at his thumbnail, bitten to the quick. “Sort it out? I’m wondering if like, since he knows he’s not fine, that’s….”

“It helps if you know things are shit,” Zayn takes a shuddery breath. “To face it. To best it, or at least not let it best you.”

“Yeah.” Niall wonders, then. “If you managed….?”

“Um,” Zayn sighs, the line going crackly with it for a second. “Know Li told you, that I was with Louis.”

“He did.” Niall waits. It takes Zayn a minute.

“Lived with him for a year, in this bloody van we’d smoke out every day. He got me into it, like. What we do? Or...what I did, I guess. And, um,” Zayn pauses again, “he saved me a bit, in the beginning, dunno where I’d be otherwise. Things went shit, to put it in a way. Really shit. I was a hot bloody mess.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t --” Niall starts, Zayn cutting him off.

“No, I was,” Zayn laughs, and it sounds odd. “it was bad. And Hazza, he’s -- I guess he’s the second person in my life who saved me. Maybe the first, I dunno. Helped me so much, really. Sort of...to do it for myself? Liam, too, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Niall thinks it’s good he can still laugh when everything is so fucked.

“Liam’s...he’s it for me, you know? And he was there too, but it took me so bloody long to get to a point where I could see just how much I need him. Hazza can’t read a fucking room, he gave me no choice in the matter. He was gonna be my best mate from day one.”

“He is quite forceful that way,” Niall runs his fingers over the scratches in the table Zayn’s done, there before Niall even showed up.

“So I feel like,” Zayn sighs again, “it’s shit. I guess what I’m trying to say is, you do what you need. I’m here for him, but I dunno if Liam and I should...storm over.”

“Yeah, Zayn,” Niall feels so tired his arms and legs are aching. “I’ll let you know.”

“I’ll call off Liam.” Zayn sounds like he’s trying to laugh. “Keep us updated.”

Niall rings off, staring at the closed door again. He can hear Harry snoring. 

**

It’s hours before Harry even moves, long enough for Niall to reorganize the whole flat, gathering what little is left of Zayn’s things and piling them up on the shittier end of the sofa. He hears him first, this quiet rustle that’s nothing like how Harry normally gets up. When the door opens, it’s slow.

“Hey,” he croaks out, his hair flat on one side and bushed out on the other. He glances over to the pile Niall’s working on, the book of Zayn’s that he’s still got in his hand. Harry’s face falls, slightly, and Niall sets it down.

“Haz,” Niall gets up, crossing the room so he can cup his hand over Harry’s cheek. His skin’s so pale. “How are you?”

“I’ve felt better,” Harry shrugs, the ghost of a dimple playing over his cheek. “Bit of a hangover.”

“Yeah, I mean,” Niall slides his hand down so he’s squeezing at Harry’s shoulder, “about...not the hangover.”

“Oh.” Harry’s nearly speaking silently, it sounds so soft to Niall. “I mean, I’m fine, Niall. Just had a bit too much, is all.”

“Are you,” Niall can’t touch him anymore, has to step back from him entirely. Harry’s blinking at him, looking confused. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

Harry stares at him, a look on his face like he’s trying to decide something. He sits then, at the kitchen table. Looks down at his hands when he spreads them out. 

“Yeah,” Harry doesn’t look up. “I am? I know I was a mess, but.”

“But what? Harry.” Niall sits across from Harry, stretching out his arms so he’s got his palms resting on Harry’s hands. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“I’m not doing it.” Harry bites his lip, finally meeting Niall’s eyes. He looks about as bad as Niall’s ever seen him. “The pills, I mean.”

“I guess it’s good you’re admitting you were doing pills at all,” Niall tries to keep his voice even. “But Harry, that’s not. You _said_ you weren’t fine.”

“If I was pissed,” Harry starts to say, but Niall cuts him off, pressing down on his hands.

“No. Don’t.” Niall can feel it, how it’s welling up inside him. “Harry, I’ve been living here for near on a year now, I fucking _love_ you, and this is not...is it just Zayn? And what happened?”

“Zayn,” Harry sounds like Niall just fucking shot him when he says it, like everything that hurts inside him stops and starts there. Niall squeezes at his hands. “He was like...you saw, Niall.”

“I did.” Niall swallows. “You should see now, Harry.”

“Can’t.” Harry looks down. “I fucked up, Niall.”

“I know, but,” Niall leans forward, “nothing so much it can’t be fixed, not at all.”

“Did I ruin this?” Harry meets Niall’s eyes, and his voice is wrecked. His eyes are wet. “Us?”

Niall lets go of Harry’s hands and gets up, walking around the table and crouching down so he can cup Harry’s chin, force him to look into his eyes. It’s bloody awful on his knees but he doesn’t give a fuck.

“Do you really think that?” Niall rubs his thumb over the dip in Harry’s chin. “That I’d want to run? I want to be here for you, Harry. I love you. I know you love me.”

Harry exhales, slow. “I do.”

“So.” Niall shakes his head, “that’s that.”

“But I just,” Harry’s eyes close. “Caz, like, I didn’t even _do_ anything then, it was just like one day she decided. Penelope and I were out. I went on for ages about how it was mutual, and it was fine, and it _felt_ fine, I thought.”

“Haz,” Niall drops his hand when Harry shakes his head, pulling a chair over so he can reach out and wrap his arms around him. 

“Grimmy’s done with me,” Harry sounds far away when he speaks, Niall unable to see his face. “I texted him, this morning. Said he thinks we’ve come to the end of our agreement.”

“Grimmy’s not your,” Niall’s not sure what to say. “I know you’ve worked for him for ages, Haz, but.”

“It felt like when Caz kicked me out.” Harry’s heart is speeding up, Niall can feel it. He rubs at Harry’s arm. “Sometimes when he fucked me, he’d tell me he loved me.”

“Harry.” Niall pulls back so he can see Harry’s face, the tears tracking down his cheeks. “You didn’t say.”

“I didn’t,” Harry shakes his head, his eyes wide, “not back. Not that way at all. But maybe as a friend? We spent so much time together, it almost was like Caz had never ended it with me, like he’d taken her place, in a way.”

“That’s pretty fucked, right? She was my girlfriend, at least I thought she was.” Harry laughs, this horrible sound. Niall palms at his knees, trying to steady him.

“Nick was a friend to you,” Niall’s not sure what else he could do to make Harry realize, “but he was still...he was paying you, Harry. I know you saw him a lot, but.”

“I was thinking,” Harry looks away, the muscles in his neck straining when he swallows. “About you, and how I feel about you. Don’t think I could toss you out in the bin and feel fine about it.”

“That’s good to know,” Niall rubs his palms up and down Harry’s thighs, warm in a pair of Niall’s joggers.

“It makes me feel like...I dunno, why she could. Why he could.”

“Harry,” Niall scoots closer, exhaling when Harry turns his head. “I’m not leaving. There isn’t much you could do to make me go. Even if you asked.”

“I wouldn’t ask,” Harry whispers. “I want things to not be fucked, Niall. I want to be better, like? About understanding things.”

“Things like what?” Niall smooths his thumb under Harry’s eye, feels the clump of his wet eyelashes. 

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugs. “Being happy. Staying happy. Loving you. Being a good friend.”

“You’ve got most of that set, Haz.” Niall taps his thumb against where Harry’s dimple would be, if he was smiling. “We’re gonna get through this.”

“I might be rubbish at it.” Harry’s eyes are wide. “I might be really rubbish and it’ll take forever, like how long it took me to wrap my head round how much I love you.”

“And I’m here, aren’t I?” Niall smiles when he can feel the dimple crease up under his thumb. 

“Zayn left too,” Harry’s face drops, like he’s just remembering. “I love him too, Niall. Not in a--”

“You don’t have to qualify, I get it,” Niall thinks about Zayn on the phone. “Zayn’s worried about you, Harry. And Liam. I’ve had to hold them off, wanted to help you myself. Guess that’s selfish, of me. I wanted to be enough.”

“You are, though.” Harry shakes his head, “I really fucked up, with Zayn.”

“You just have to see him, Harry,” Niall leans forward, brushes his lips against Harry’s chapped ones gently. “It’s just been too long.”

“There’s more,” Harry starts, but then he takes a shuddery breath, like he can’t help it. “I feel wrecked though, can I -- I need a shower, I think.”

“I’ll be here, Harry.” Niall kisses him softly again. “For as long as it takes.”

He’ll call Zayn later. Tell him he thinks that things are gonna be alright.

**

“Niall, your gorgeous boyfriend is skulking about outside,” Laura’s cleaning a table by the front before the dinner rush, looking out the window. “Did you tell him he’s not allowed in?”

“Harry’s here?” Niall looks up from the diary where he’s counting out the days til his gig. It’s coming up so soon that he’s bricking it entirely, to be honest. “He could come in.”

“Well,” Laura starts laughing, “he’s not. Pacing about like he’s your puppy you left out during your shift.”

“He probably just wanted to walk me home,” Niall shrugs, trying to keep the grin off his face while Laura’s still laughing at him. “Don’t start, I’ll tell Bressie to sack you in an instant.”

“He’d never, known me longer than you,” Laura tosses her wet flannel in Niall’s direction, “off with you, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah yeah,” Niall pockets his tips for his shift, pleased that they’ve been steady and pretty consistent as of late. Makes him feel less worried, like. 

“Niall!” Harry smiles when Niall comes out, kissing his cheek carefully before taking his hand. 

“Hey Haz,” Niall grins, “wasn’t expecting you.”

“Had a free afternoon,” Harry shrugs, ducking his head. “Wanted to see if you felt like the park.”

“I do,” Niall looks then, at the bag Harry’s holding. “You get some food?”

“Just a couple of sandwiches,” Harry shrugs. “Nothing big.”

“If they’re not big, I’m gonna be pretty hungry.” 

Harry laughs; it sounds almost like old times. “They’re mini sandwiches, you’re gonna be a shit later.”

“Knew it.” Niall pats at this stomach with his free hand. “My stomach’s already starting its strop.”

“Tell it to stop its grumbling, because I got you an extra,” Harry glances over when they’re at a crosswalk, “get it? Grumbling?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Niall groans at the shit joke, squeezing at Harry’s hand until Harry does it back.

They end up in the same shady area that the lads had shown Niall back forever ago, when he’d first started hanging out with them. Niall figures it’s like, their spot. When the weather’s nice. Like today, a nice breeze going as Harry spreads out, patting the ground next to him until Niall sits.

“Good eats, Haz.” Niall says, taking a drink of the juice Harry’d brought with him. 

“Thanks,” Harry smiles. “How was work?”

“My gig is coming up.” Niall takes another big bite, talking around it, “think I might shit myself.”

“Well, that will definitely make it memorable.” Harry takes a long drink, turning his face up to catch the sun that’s peeking through the leaves of the tree. 

Niall reaches over to stroke his finger down over Harry’s cheek. The shadows that looked almost like bruises are nearly gone, now.

“You’re looking better,” he murmurs, Harry’s eyes fluttering closed. “More rested.”

“I feel more rested.” Harry turns his head, chasing after Niall’s finger when he lets it drop down Harry’s face. “Feel like all I do is rest.”

“Well,” Niall finishes the sandwich, brushes his hands off on his jeans. “You needed it.”

“I guess,” Harry smiles at the look Niall gives him. “I mean, I know. I’m just used to. A lot of go.”

“I know that Zayn’s been out a ton looking for work, bet he could use some company.” Niall keeps trying, even though he knows --

“Don’t think he’ll want mine.” Harry’s been loads better. He really has. Niall’s noticed it getting better every day. They talk at night, Niall listening while Harry talks about whatever he needs. His family, back in Holmes Chapel, who he sees on holidays and don’t know what he does. Caroline and how he’d gotten passed around like candy. Everything. How Louis looked out for him. 

Everything but Zayn. Harry had told Niall on that first day, after he’d showered and ate, just the once. How he’d done something he doesn’t think Zayn will ever forgive him for. The best he can surmise, Niall thinks it’s about that bloke Louis. 

He also thinks that there’s something more there, that Zayn was right. That maybe Harry’s mad at him. Just a bit. It’s the only part of Harry that he still keeps locked away from Niall. 

Still. 

“Alright,” Niall nods. “I’m gonna keep bringing it up, though.”

Harry sighs. “I know. Also,” he takes a deep breath, “there’s something else.”

“Okay.” Niall knows that whatever it is, it’ll be okay, but that doesn’t stop his stomach dropping out. 

“I was thinking about,” Harry straightens his back about as much as Niall’s ever seen, looking away when he continues, “only doing escorting. Talking to Liam, maybe.”

“Oh.” Niall can’t help how relieved he sounds, Harry glancing over with his face falling a bit.

“Niall, I’m sorry, I --” Harry turns and rests his hand on Niall’s thigh, a grounding feeling. “I should have made it seem less --”

“No, it’s alright,” Niall laughs, the crease in Harry’s forehead smoothing out. “So are you really thinking that?’

“I am.” Harry smiles. “I think it’s time I go...well, not respectable. But. Less…”

“Fucked up?” Niall supplies, because it’s true and he can.

“Yeah,” Harry’s nodding, his fingers digging into Niall’s leg. “a bit, anyway. Might be steadier money, if I can see if Liam’ll swing it. Don’t know how much holdover there is, from Caz.”

“It’s been years though,” Niall points out, and Harry looks down. 

“It has, so.” Harry looks up. “Maybe? And I…”

“You what?” Niall encourages him, watches as Harry takes out his phone and puts it on the grass between them. 

“I called Jeff today,” Harry taps on his screen, “told him I wasn’t available anymore. And some of my other less regular regulars.”

“You did?” Niall can’t believe it, to be honest. Harry’s been seeing some of them, especially people like Jeff, for far longer than Niall can even guess, really.

“I feel like,” Harry takes a deep breath, “I need to keep things separate. Liam, he’s always been able to. And him with -- with Zayn, so I think it’s best. For me. And you. Us.”

“Alright,” Niall doesn’t want to let on how much better he feels suddenly, wants to let Harry keep picking at it on his own. He remembers how Zayn said that’s what Harry was able to do for him. Help him do it for himself. “I’m with ya, no matter what.”

“It’s really good,” Harry’s got a spark in his eye that Niall’s not seen in ages, “that you’ve given it up for the pub and your music.”

“Why’s that?” Niall moves when Harry pulls at him, maneuvering them so Niall’s settled in between Harry’s thighs, his back against Harry’s chest.

“Because,” Harry’s already laughing when he finishes, “if it works out I’d hate for us to end things just because we’d be working together, technically.”

“You’re an idiot,” Niall tips his head back into Harry’s shoulder so he can press a kiss to the underside of Harry’s jaw. “You gonna talk to Liam? Maybe we could have a dinner, invite --”

“I’ll talk to Liam,” Harry’s gone quiet again, still against Niall’s back. “Myself.”

“Okay, Haz.” Niall sighs when Harry wraps his arms around Niall’s chest. “Okay.”

&&&

The flat feels too quiet without Zayn. Not that he’s loud, but it’s different somehow. Liam’s gotten so used to him being around all the time, it just feels weird when he’s out. Like the place is noticeably empty.

“He’ll be back soon, anyway,” Liam tells Loki, who sneezes. “Bless you. He said he was only going to look for couple hours, then pick up some bread and milk. Oh, was I boring you?”

Liam frowns as Loki trots off, the telltale sound of him jumping onto the bed for a kip. He looks at the clock. Zayn’s only been gone twenty minutes, out looking for help wanted signs at some nearby shops. 

He’s getting frustrated, which Liam hates to see. It’s no rush, they’re getting by more than fine on Liam’s gigs, but Zayn won’t stand for it. It’s meant everything feels a little too tense though, between Zayn stressing about work and Harry... God, Liam’s still so thrown by that, doesn’t have a clue what to think. Harry’s always been the best one of them all -- excluding Niall, maybe, but like, of the rest of them. He’s always loved what he does, never seemed to worry so long as he had his big-arse bed and enough money for rent and food. For him to turn to Louis for pills, it’s… Liam still can’t believe it. Feels like he’s been clubbed with a cricket bat every time he starts thinking about it again.

Niall insists Haz is doing alright -- or that he’s doing better, in any case -- but the whole thing feels like such a mess still. Sometimes Liam wishes he could time travel, jump forward to a part when they’re all past this and everyone’s well again. Happy.

He shakes his head, clearing it. There’s no use getting weighed down in these thoughts, not now anyway. Harry’s getting better. Zayn’s loads better. It’ll all work out.

“Oi, lazybones,” he goes into the bedroom, patting Loki on the bum, “time for a jog, let’s go.”

If nothing else, a run will distract him, leave him too tired to dwell on anything.

**

They’re only just back when his phone rings. Liam considers letting it go to voicemail but then hesitates, thinks it could be Zayn with news -- good or bad or anything -- and doubles back, wondering when he’ll be able to ignore calls again without worrying like this. Never, probably.

It throws him when the display says Harry’s the one calling. For a second Liam’s stomach drops as he thinks of all the horrible things that could have happened. That Niall’s had it wrong, Harry’s not getting better.

“Haz? Is everything okay?”

“Hi, yeah, it’s alright, Liam. I was just wondering if like,” Harry picks his way through it slowly, giving Liam’s heartbeat time to settle; he sounds the same as he always does, “nothing big, just if you guys were in.”

“Oh, I’m home but Zayn’s out, probably won’t be back for,” he tries to think, “another hour or so? Maybe a bit less. I was just going to shower, I can leave the door unlocked if you want to swing by.”

“Yeah?” Harry sounds far away. “Yeah, alright. See you in a few, then.”

He’s already in the kitchen when Liam’s finished with his shower, calling, “Hiiii,” when the water shuts off. Liam’s expecting him and he still nearly has a heart attack. 

“I made tea,” Harry says once Liam’s dressed, still a bit damp, “hope that’s okay.”

“Of course, Haz.” Liam pours himself a mug, pulls out a seat opposite him at the table. Harry looks tired and pale, his hair slipping out of a messy bun; Liam leans forward so he can squeeze Harry’s arm. “You’re sure everything’s okay?”

Harry sighs. It starts to break at the end, Harry turning his head like that’ll help him keep it together. 

“Haz.” Liam’s own voice sounds unsteady, too.

Harry shakes his head sadly, still looking to the side. “I fucked up, Liam. A lot.”

“Harry --”

“No, I did,” he says, “and I feel shit about it.” 

Liam squeezes Harry’s arm again, shifts so he can get a grip on Harry’s hand instead. He wants to reassure Harry, tell him that they’ve all fucked up at one point or another, that nothing so horrible’s happened that it can’t be fixed, but Harry’s blinking fast to keep the tears at bay and all the words end up trapped in Liam’s throat. He’s not sure how Harry ended up in such a state. He should’ve noticed sooner. Should’ve caught it before things got to this point.

“It’s just,” Harry takes a breath, “everything was so awful and I just wanted it to… not be, you know? Which was stupid, I know, so fucking stupid, but.” Harry trails off with a shrug. “It didn’t work, anyway. Just made everything worse.”

“I’m sorry,” Liam runs his thumb over Harry’s knuckles, “I --”

“Liam,” Harry laughs a little, “no, that’s not -- _I’m_ sorry, alright? That’s what I came here to say, like. That and…”

Liam waits, watching Harry trace the rim of his mug with his free hand as he thinks about whatever it is he wants to say. It’s a bit like waiting for Zayn to talk, that same prolonged pause while he chews over his words. Sometimes Liam forgets how alike they really are, underneath it all. How easily they can get trapped in their own heads.

“I know it’s not my place,” Harry says eventually, “like, I don’t deserve it --”

“Harry,” Liam fights not to roll his eyes.

“-- but I was wondering if you’d like, if there was anyway you could help me get a job with you? Like, at the agency? I know it’s been awhile and things are probably still too messy because of me and Caz and everything so if you can’t I understand, but I’ve been thinking that maybe it’d be a good idea if I could like, go back to just that. Just escorting.”

“Of course,” Liam says immediately. He’s, god, he’s been trying to get everyone on board with him for ages now, had only stopped offering because they shot him down at every turn. 

“Like I said -- wait, seriously?” Harry looks up. “Just like that?”

“They’re always looking for people,” Liam shrugs, “I always figured you were more into your regulars and your one-offs. Like Zayn is. Was,” Liam corrects. He doesn’t miss the way Harry winces. “But yeah, I’ll talk to them, see about setting you up for a meeting.”

Harry smiles his first genuine smile all day. The first one Liam’s gotten from him a long time. Since before Zayn got hurt, maybe. Fuck, it’s been a bad stretch for everyone.

“Thanks, Liam, that’s... “ Harry exhales heavily, sounding like a huge weight’s been lifted from his shoulders, “thanks.”

“Anytime, Haz,” Liam pats his hand before sitting back, taking a sip of his lukewarm tea. “And thank _you_ in advance for the recruiting bonus.”

Harry’s jaw drops as he gasps around a laugh. “I knew it!”

Liam laughs, shaking his head. There isn’t one at all. “I’m just kidding, Haz. It’d be nice, though, wouldn’t it?”

Harry hums, both of them startling when Liam’s phone buzzes with a text from Zayn. 

_Bread & milk & anything else ??_

_Think that’s it c u soon xx_

_Xx_

“Sorry,” Liam puts his phone back, bites his lip to keep the dumb grin from taking over his face, “just firming up the grocery list.”

Harry’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He shifts his mug between his hands, looks away when he asks, “How’s he doing?”

“Zayn?” Liam waits for Harry to nod. “He’s good, Haz. Real good and you,” he pauses, doesn’t feel right yelling at Harry for not coming round while Zayn was sick because clearly Harry was messed up about it, but at the same time it’s _Zayn_. They were all messed up about it. “You’d know it if you’d just talk to him.”

He knows it’s sucked for Zayn not to hear from Harry all this time. That he’d been torn up over thinking it was about money; that it’s even worse now that they know what was really happening. It’s not Liam’s place to get angry over it, but he is anyway. 

“I know,” Harry says, sounding unconvinced. His own phone vibrates but he doesn’t check it. “Tell him I said hi, okay?”

“Harry.” Liam can’t stop himself from sounding appalled when Harry pushes back from the table quickly. 

“I should go. Promised Niall I’d be back before he left for work.” He goes to rinse his mug, saying something Liam can’t make out over the running water. “But thanks again, really, Liam.”

He dries his hands on his trousers; Liam’s never seen him look so uncomfortable, like he can’t stand to be here any longer.

“I’ll call you after I talk to them,” Liam promises, Harry nodding quickly. “Hey.”

Liam gets up, wrapping Harry in a hug, hating how tense Harry feels. “I’m glad you’re doing better, yeah?” he says quietly, Harry seeming small despite how his chin’s hooked over Liam’s shoulder, his back hunched a bit. Liam pats his back, feeling him exhale. “It’s just Zayn, mate.”

“Liam.”

“Harry.” Liam matches Harry’s warning tone, trying to let that say everything he means. Trying to say _fix it_ without saying it outright. After a minute Harry nods, his hair tickling Liam’s cheek. 

“I should go,” he says, untangling himself. He’s at the door when he turns back, mouth open like he’s going to say something else before he thinks better of it. All that comes out is, “Thanks again, Liam,” and then he’s gone.

**

“Cheers,” Liam says as Niall slides him a fresh pint. It’s his favorite time of the day at the pub, just before the evening rush starts, when Niall’s got a few minutes to chat instead of being pulled in nine thousand directions.

“Harry said he talked to you.” Niall pushes a rag around like he’s wiping down the bar, even though Liam knows Bressie doesn’t mind him slacking as long as he doesn’t ignore other, full-paying customers.

“Yeah. The agency’s supposed to call him tomorrow, did he mention that?” 

Niall nods, smiling. “Thanks for that, too. He’s real… seems relieved, or something? Can’t put my finger on it, but he’s glad.”

“Good,” Liam smiles back, “I’m glad it’s worked out.”

Niall looks a bit relieved, too. They all are, Liam supposes. He knows they’re not out of the woods yet, that things could likely fall apart in the blink of an eye, but things are getting better, slowly but surely. If only Haz and Zayn could get back on the same page. Liam sighs; some things are still as mucked up as ever. 

“How’s Zayner holding up?”

“You know, same.” Liam shrugs, draining his beer. “Everything’s the same job ads all the time and no one’ll call him back. It’s… he’s getting a bit down on himself.”

“That’s shit.” Niall moves around Bressie to refill Liam’s glass. 

“Yeah.” Liam taps on the bar top, trying not to think of how worn down Zayn’s started to look again. He’ll find something eventually, Liam knows it, but it’d be nice if it were sooner rather than later. Before he decides it’s easier to give up. “You don’t need help round here, do you, Bressie?” 

“Why?” Bressie hands some bloke his change and turns around slowly. “You know someone?”

“Bres, seriously,” Niall’s eyes are big as saucers, “don’t joke.”

“Eoghan mentioned he’s heading back to Ireland for good, so. Gonna be an opening soon enough.”

“Bressie.” Niall’s got Bressie’s arm in a vice grip. Liam feels like he might pass out. He doesn’t want to breathe for fear of upsetting something in the universe, making it all go to shit again. He hadn’t been serious, for fuck’s sake, just asked Bressie on a lark.

“Can he -- she? He -- bartend?” he asks them.

“Bressie, with a face like Zayn’s it doesn’t matter. He could do nothing but pour tequila on the floor and people’d still keep coming in.”

“Oi.” Liam’s not sure he likes hearing Zayn talked about like that, even if it is probably true. Niall rolls his eyes, pulling up a pic on his phone, Bressie whistling low when he takes a look.

“Alright, chief,” Bressie says, “bring him in, we’ll see what he can do.”

“What?” Liam’s hands are shaking a bit, Niall staring back at him with wide-eyed joy like he can’t believe it, either. 

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Bressie shrugs. “We’ll do a test run during your shift -- _not_ during a rush.”

**

“I got it,” Zayn says, as soon as Liam answers. “I was shit but Bressie says as long as I can pull a pint then he and Niall can teach me the rest.”

Liam sags against the brick of the church, not caring that he’ll probably get pulls on his jacket, not caring that his date will be wondering where he’s gone. He shuts his eyes tight. It’s good news. There’s nothing to cry over.

“And you were worried,” he says, wishing he weren’t stuck at a bloody gig right now. He’ll fake sick and leave the reception early, just this once.

“Shut up.” Liam can hear the smile in Zayn’s voice, picture it clear in his mind. “Listen, babe, I’ve got to get --”

“Yeah, of course. Go. Congrats!” he yells as Zayn rings off. 

“Fuck,” Liam says to himself, shaking his head as he starts back inside, allowing himself one last giddy laugh before he pulls it together. No one will believe he’s poorly if he can’t stop smiling. 

**

Zayn’s at work -- which hasn’t gotten old for either of them yet, even if it does mean nowadays Liam’s left home alone more frequently than he’d like -- when there’s a knock at the door. It’s so soft he almost misses it. He turns the telly down, checking his phone to see if Niall or Harry texted that they might stop by. There’s nothing, but a knock comes again, louder.

Louis looks nervous, hands shoved deep in his pockets, when Liam pulls open the door. “Hi, sorry, is it alright if I?”

Liam steps aside unthinkingly, hears himself say, “Yeah, of course,” even though he doesn’t mean it. He stops just inside the door, Louis looking uncomfortable opposite him. “What’re you doing here, Louis?”

“I haven’t heard from Harry in a while and he won’t return any of my calls or texts and I wanted,” Louis looks past him as he talks, “dunno, wanted to check in. Figured Zayn might know.”

“Zayn isn’t here right now.”

“Oh fuck off, Payno,” Louis rolls his eyes. “I just wanted to make sure Harry’s okay. I get why Zayn’s mad at me but you, too? You fucking won! You and him and your dog and your comic books and your perfect flat.”

“Won?” Liam sputters, his brain taking a minute to catch up, realize Louis is talking about Zayn, of all things. “Zayn isn’t some _prize_ , Louis! We weren’t in a bloody competition! We were _friends_. You and me, remember?”

Louis clenches his jaw, his voice low when he says, “You walked away, Liam.”

“Yeah, because you were a shit friend!” Liam shouts. He doesn’t understand how Louis hasn’t gotten that yet, if he’s serious or playing dumb. Sometimes it was hard to tell with him. “You were shit to me, you were shit to Zayn, and then you were shit to Harry!”

He’s expecting Louis to shout back, but he doesn’t. It makes Liam want to shake him. He crosses his arms over his chest instead, looks right at Louis when he says, “And I don’t know why you’ve decided to come back _now_ , of all times.”

“I told you,” Louis sounds exasperated, “I was worried about Harry. Christ, Liam, is that a fucking crime? I’ve talked to him more in the past year than I’ve talked to any of you lot. Not because I was selling him pills that whole time, so don’t even start with me, Payno.”

“I wasn’t.”

“And please,” Louis keeps going like he’s a runaway train, gaining speed, “don’t act like I’ve come back to steal Zayn away from you, that’s bollocks and we both know it. It _is_ ,” he says when Liam scoffs. The look that crosses Louis’s face is strange, confused and then dead serious. “Liam, it is. I’m happy with Eleanor, like --”

“Oh, sure,” Liam rolls his eyes, “let’s just forget, Louis, that you’re the one who came to me and told me to leave you two alone. All because I fucking _texted_ Zayn. You were a possessive twat who didn’t even want us to be _friends_ because you felt threatened or whatever. And that’s all we were, Louis. Bloody friends!

“So sorry if I don’t believe you. I mean, you’re happy but you still try to tell me I fucking _won_ Zayn like he’s a trophy?” Liam barely recognizes his own voice, he sounds so angry, everything spilling out after so long. “If you’re so happy now then how come --”

“Because I fucking loved him too, Liam!” Louis shouts, so loud Liam flinches. “And I loved him _first_ and now you and him are all,” he waves his hand, “happy as fuck and...”

“And what?” Liam asks when Louis trails off.

Louis shakes his head. “It’s not fair.”

“FAIR?”

“Liam,” Louis sighs, “I didn’t come here for you to shout at me. Look, I know I fucked up -- like, loads of times, really -- and that me and Zayn wouldn’t have worked out anyway because I couldn’t get my shit together for five seconds. And yeah, things with me and El are great, but it still sucks to see him all settled and happy now.”

Liam looks at Louis for a long moment, taking it all in. Louis holds his stare.

“That’s really fucking selfish, Tommo,” he says eventually. Louis flings his arms out, hands in pockets so his jacket pulls open, making a face like _what did you expect?_

Nothing, Liam realizes. He doesn’t expect anything. Hasn’t since he walked away from him that night outside Funky Buddha. He’d always wanted better from Louis, but even that dream went out the window long ago. 

“Harry’s fine,” he says. He doesn’t know if it’s real or imagined, the way Louis seems to relax a bit. Maybe it’s the fight draining out of him. Maybe it’s to do with Harry. “He’s trying to sort everything out and it’s taking him time, so I dunno, that’s probably why he’s not talking to you.”

“Yeah, alright,” Louis laughs, pulling another face. They both know it’s more than just Harry getting his ducks in a row. “That wasn’t so hard, was it, Payno?”

Liam closes his eyes. Louis always has had to have the last word. He lets himself laugh a bit, too, because sometimes it’s like nothing’s changed at all.

“Tell Eleanor I say hello, yeah?”

Louis mouth curves into a half-smile. “Sure. She’ll probably be pissed I’ve interrupted her revising with that boring news, but --”

“She’s back at uni?” He hadn’t realized she was; he’s glad for her. That she’s sticking to her plan, that it wasn’t all for naught. 

“Not all of us are irredeemable fuck-ups, Payno.”

“You’re not --” Liam stops when Louis rolls his eyes. Right.

“See you around, I guess.” Louis makes to leave, gets halfway down the hall before Liam sticks his head out the door.

“Oi,” he waits until Louis looks back, “my number’s still the same, if you want to call next time. Instead of walking all the way over here. You know, in case no one’s home.”

Louis face goes funny, like he’s not sure why Liam’s said that. Liam doesn’t know either, but it’s not like Louis is going to call him. Just in case, though.

He waves and Louis waves back, doesn’t say anything else before he disappears.

**

“West Brom losing?” Zayn asks when he gets home. He straightens one of the empty beer bottles lining the coffee table.

“Louis stopped by,” Liam says without looking away from the telly. He’s not even sure who’s playing in this match, only turned it on so he wouldn’t be drinking in silence. Only started drinking because he couldn’t sort everything out in his head.

Zayn drops heavily onto the sofa, sounding all kinds of confused when he asks, “Why?” 

“To check on Haz.”

“That was nice of him,” Zayn says, after the longest pause. Liam shrugs. It was, he supposes. 

“Had a bit of a row, too.”

Zayn kisses his shoulder and then rests his chin there, it digging in sharp when he asks, “You want to talk about it?”

“It was about you,” he says, trying to gauge Zayn’s reaction out of the corner of his eye. There isn’t much of one. “And me. Us, I mean. Told him he was a terrible friend. And a possessive twat. It was…” 

“Sounds colorful,” Zayn laughs, taking the beer from Liam’s hand so he can have some. “Did you hit him, too?” 

He knows Zayn’s mostly teasing, trying to make light of everything, but Liam shakes his head. “I didn’t even want to? He knows he fucked up, but --”

“It’s Louis. He’s never going to apologize, not fully,” Zayn finishes. He doesn’t sound sad when he says it; it’s more like he knows it’s the truth. It sucks, but that’s what it is. Liam knows that, deep down. It’s what he’s been chewing on since Louis left.

“Yeah.” He sighs, shifting so he can look at Zayn properly. “So that was my fun afternoon. How was work?”

“Far less exciting.” Zayn frowns when Liam steals his beer back, polishing it off. “If you’d told me you were all broody I could’ve stopped, picked up something for dinner on my way home.”

“Sorry.” It hadn’t crossed his mind. Nothing had, really. “Think there’s some leftover chicken, though. Could have rice, make do with that.”

“Ughhhh,” Zayn slumps forward, using his weight to push Liam into the sofa until they’re lying in a tangle, “I work away all afternoon and I’m still supposed to cook dinner? All while you’ve been sat here drinking for hours?” He laughs when Liam starts poking him in the ribs, trying to shield himself from the attack without actually dislodging himself from his perch. “God, what kind of boyfriend are you? I want a new one.”

“Too bad,” Liam catches Zayn’s wrist when he tries to launch his own attack, pinning it down and wrapping his other arm around Zayn’s shoulders, “you’re stuck with me.”

“Nooo,” Zayn groans again, but Liam can feel the way he’s smiling against his chest, like he’s going to crack up laughing any minute.

“Sorry,” Liam says, feeling like he could burst out laughing, too. He’s really glad Zayn’s home. “I guess we’ll just have to find a way to make it work.”

“Fiiiiine.” Zayn shifts so he can look at Liam, his chin digging into his sternum. His smile’s so bright Liam can feel it in the tips of his toes. He’s never wanted to kiss him more.

&&&

“Oi, leave it,” Zayn tugs on Loki’s leash until he stops rooting around in a pile of rubbish. He checks his phone; he’s got an hour before he’s got to be at the pub. 

It’s weird, having a set schedule again. Zayn’s not had one since he was still in school; he’d gotten used to choosing when he wanted to work, stacking everything up in bursts so he could have enough money to make it through a few days. Working at Bressie’s is better than that in so many ways, but it’s still so different that sometimes it blows Zayn’s mind.

He thinks it’s probably because so much is different, and that it happened so slowly it was almost like nothing was changing at all, until one morning he woke up and realized he hadn’t been back to his and Harry’s flat in weeks. That he hadn’t paid rent in ages, that it probably didn’t even qualify as his and Harry’s flat anymore. It wasn’t a bad realization -- Zayn doesn’t want to leave Liam’s any time soon -- but it was still startling.

The same kind of startling as Louis showing up and having it out with Liam. Zayn hadn’t been as thrown by it as Liam, but Zayn’s long since come to terms with Louis and his inability to apologize. He thought Liam had, too, but Liam’s always wanted to believe the best in people. It’s one of the best things about him.

Zayn’s phone buzzes with a text from Liam.

_U need 2 get a new phone so i can send u pics this party has a champain fountain taller then me !!!_

_Show me l8r !_ Zayn sends back, laughing at the mental image. 

Liam’s response comes through as only empty boxes; Zayn knows enough to assume there’s probably at least one clinking glass emoji and a heart in there. It’s barely a second before he gets, _SOZ :D <3_, and bursts out laughing on the sidewalk outside their building.

“Liam’s brunch going well?” Zayn hears. When he looks up, Harry’s sat on the front steps, hunched over with a fucking ridiculous hat perched on his head.

Zayn feels frozen. It’s been fucking forever since he’s heard from Harry, and him showing up out of the blue… Fuck, it’s almost on par with Louis opening the door to Eleanor’s flat that day, so unexpected Zayn can’t do anything but stare for a few minutes.

“Hey.” Harry lifts his hand in a half wave, reaching out when Loki lurches forward to say hello. 

“What’re you doing here?” Zayn asks. It comes out crueler than he intended, but fuck it. Harry’s been to see Liam, he lives with Niall, fuck’s sake he’s even seen _Louis_ more recently than he’s talked to Zayn. His tone is a bit warranted.

Harry sighs like he knows it is. “Can I… is it alright if I come up?”

Loki’s already pulling towards the door, bored with Harry and ready for his post-walk treat.

“Whatevs.” Zayn shrugs, leaving it up to Harry to follow him inside. “Liam’s not home,” he says, unhooking Loki’s leash and giving a handful of treats.

“I know, I came to see you.”

“Oh, so you _do_ remember I exist.”

“Zayn.” Harry sounds hurt by that, which is rich.

“What?” Zayn scoffs, letting his voice get louder. “Are you really going to act like it hasn’t been weeks since you last talked to me? Because it has, Harry. Weeks.”

“I’m sorry, alright?” Harry yells, his voice shaking like he could start crying at any second. Zayn inhales, surprised. For some reason he hadn’t expected Harry to apologize, just like that. 

“It was really shitty of you, Haz.” Zayn sits on the sofa. He’s still angry, but he doesn’t feel much like shouting anymore. “You just fucking --”

“I know!” Harry sits at the opposite end from Zayn, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I fucked everything up without even trying. You were doing so well and then I fucking sent Louis here without even thinking and you’ve been angry with me for weeks, which I deserve, I know, but… God, Zayn, I didn’t _mean_ it, I just. I ran into him on the way home from the hospital, I didn’t think he’d show up here. I honestly didn’t.”

Harry takes a deep breath, sitting up a bit so his voice is clear when he says, “But don’t worry, I’m not talking to Louis anymore. Not even to check in, like I used to. It’s just.” He makes a slicing motion with his hand, done and dusted.

“Harry,” Zayn turns so he’s facing Harry more, “you don’t have to cut Louis out of your life, I’m not mad that you talked to him, or that you told him I was hurt.”

“You should be! Zayn, he broke your heart and then I sent him here. Like a fucking idiot.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Zayn rolls his eyes at Harry’s dramatics. “Haz, I was so fucking high on painkillers that the bloody Queen could’ve rolled in here that night and I wouldn’t have cared. Was it weird seeing Louis? Yeah. Did the world end? No.”

Harry starts to protest but Zayn talks over him. “I’m not mad at you for any of that, Harry, I’m mad because you dropped off the face of the fucking earth and it wasn’t until Niall came over and told us you’d started going on Louis-sponsored benders -- which, what the _fuck_ , Harry?”

“What, you’re the only one allowed to take pills before work?”

“No, but you never did and then suddenly you’re out here turning into Tommo, getting fucked up every night just to make it through, coming back late and passing right out? It was bad enough when he did it, Harry, but...”

“But what?”

“But Louis didn’t care what it did to me! You should’ve known better! How could you do that to fucking Niall, of all people?”

“Because everything was so terrible I couldn’t stand it!” Harry yells back. “You were a fucking _mess_ , Zayn! You didn’t even look like a person, and every time I tried to see you I could only think of how much worse I’d made it by sending Louis here.”

“You didn’t, though, Harry, god.” Zayn doesn’t know what’s so hard for him to understand about that. “Which you’d have known if you bloody _talked_ to me at all.”

“I couldn’t!” Harry yells.

“Why the fuck not!?” Zayn yells, equally loud.

“Because,” Harry’s voice cracks, something raw and broken spilling out, “Zayn, I was there the whole fucking time, and I know you have Liam now, but it’s still _Louis_. If you ever saw him again it would make you sick, you told me that -- no, you _did_ , you said it’d be horrible, like the worst possible thing in the world, remember?” 

“Oh, Harry,” Zayn breathes out, watching Harry furiously wipe at his cheeks. Of course he remembers that; it’d been the first time he’d ever talked about what happened with Louis. God. He hasn’t thought about that night in forever. Hadn’t realized Harry still did. “That wasn’t -- that was so long ago, back when everything was still like, fresh.”

“You were miserable for so long,” Harry says, shaking his head like Zayn’s got it all wrong.

“Yeah, I know, but,” Zayn pauses, trying to think of how to put it, “okay, I loved Louis, right? And it took a long time for me to move on.” 

“And then I rui--”

“No,” Zayn shakes his head, touching Harry’s arm to stop him from talking, “Haz, it’s not like that. I thought that it’d fuck me up, seeing Louis again, but that was when everything was still horrible and painful.”

“But you _loved_ him.”

“Yeah, loved, past tense. I don’t still love him. Which is why when I finally saw him again it was fine.”

“You said it was the painkillers.”

“I saw him again, Niall or Liam didn’t tell you?” Harry pauses for a second after Zayn asks, his eyes going wide when he nods.

“Louis sort of mentioned it,” Harry looks away, “I’d convinced myself he was just taking the piss.” 

“Me and Liam went looking for him, after Niall came here and told us he was selling pills to you. No, it was alright,” he says when Harry’s face starts to crumple, like that’s another mess he’s made without realizing it, “really. It was like… I dunno, cathartic? To finally tell him how terrible he made me feel.”

“You really talked to him? After everything?” Harry looks skeptical when Zayn nods. “I don’t… just like that? God,” he looks away, sounds angry when he asks, “but _how_?”

He doesn’t seem to like the way Zayn shrugs, at a loss for how to explain it any better than he already has.

“Zayn, that’s -- that’s bollocks! If you’d really loved him then you’d still be fucked up over it. That’s how you know it was real in the first place. If Liam left, wouldn’t you be a mess?”

“Probably.” Definitely, Zayn thinks, but he doesn’t want to dwell on that.

“See?!”

“Harry, that doesn’t prove anything. I was fucked up after Louis left because of _how_ he left, not because that’s how it’s supposed to be. It’s different -- you’re the one who said that, made me realize I might’ve had it all wrong.”

“Me? What the fuck do I know?” Harry laughs bitterly. “All I’m good at is getting left behind.”

“Harry --”

“It’s true,” Harry holds up his fingers, counting, “Caz, Grimmy told me to take a permanent break, you --”

“I’m not leaving you,” Zayn says softly.

“You almost _died_!” Harry pushes off the sofa, arms flinging out so wide Zayn has to duck them. “God, Zayn, you almost fucking died and it was _awful_. I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

“I’m alright, though.” 

“And now you’re here all the time, you’ve basically moved out of our flat,” Harry looks around the room, huffing a laugh at the way all Zayn’s things have mixed in with Liam’s. “You didn’t even say anything! You’re my best fucking friend and you just fucking left one day and never came back!”

Zayn feels like someone’s sat directly on his chest, all the air gone out of him. Harry’s shoulders are heaving, his hair wild around his face. He looks sadder and angrier than Zayn’s ever seen him.

“That’s not,” he stops himself, because that _is_ what happened. It was just one backpack full of belongings at a time instead of one fell swoop. “I didn’t mean to.”

Harry scoffs. “No one ever means to.”

“Don’t be a twat, you know what I meant,” Zayn has to fight to keep from yelling at Harry. He takes a deep breath and then another. “I stayed here after I got hurt because it was easier and now it’s just… it just fucking happened, Harry. And don’t act like it’s all my fault when you were the one avoiding me this whole bloody time.”

Harry starts to say something and thinks better of it, pushing his hands through his hair instead, tugging on the ends. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, Harry nodding without looking at him. “I never meant to make you feel abandoned, like.”

His phone buzzes, his work alarm. Zayn curses under his breath. 

“Fuck, Haz, I’ve got to get to work, can we --”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Zayn doesn’t believe him until Harry turns, a small smile on his face. “Niall told me about that one, I guess congratulations are in order.”

“And to you, too.” Zayn stands up, smiling back. “Look at us, couple of respectable lads with respectable jobs.”

“Yeah, a bartender and an escort, real respectable.” Harry rolls his eyes, heading towards the door before Zayn can give him a hug. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

“Yeah, of course. Maybe answer your texts once in a while.”

“Oh, phone etiquette from Zayn Malik, that’s rich.”

Zayn sticks his tongue out, making Harry laugh as he leaves. It’s a welcome sound, ringing loudly in Zayn’s ears as he hurries to change his shirt so he isn’t late.

**

“Been thinking,” Niall leans up against the bar, not even pretending to work.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Zayn says, laughing at the offended look on Niall’s face. He takes the drinks he’s just poured to the couple at the opposite end of the bar, Niall following.

“Liam hasn’t come to visit you yet,” Niall says, making Zayn strain to hear an old bloke’s order, “bit weird, isn’t it?”

Liam’s offered, loads of times, has been begging Zayn to let him stop by during one of his shifts. Zayn won’t let him, not just yet. Not until he’s better acclimated. 

“He’d mess up my concentration, bro,” Zayn mumbles, trying to remember the right proportions for the drink he’s making. “Harry doesn’t hang out here, does he?”

He hasn’t talked to Haz much since he came by a few days back, only a handful of texts, including one dumb joke about Mozart and bananas that he’s pretty sure Haz messed up. It’s more than nothing, though, and Niall says Harry’s doing fine, so. It’s alright.

“Me and Haz aren’t _nearly_ the same level as you and Liam,” Niall laughs, “but nice try.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zayn fights with the register until Niall leans over, smacking the drawer on the side, popping it open.

“This is the one that sticks. God help us the day Harry does start hanging around, though. He’ll be in here, ordering Belgrade Burros --”

“What the fuck is in that?” Zayn’s never had someone order one, doesn’t think he’s ever heard of it before.

“Exactly,” Niall nods.

“Horan!” Bressie shouts from the back, “Thought you were coming in for inventory, not to distract my best worker.”

“Used to be I was your best worker, Bressie.” Niall slaps Zayn’s arse before stepping on a crate, hopping over the bar and leaving Zayn to it.

**

“This was good,” Liam picks another piece of broccoli out of the container he’s supposed to be putting away, “we’ve been sleeping on this place.”

“Told you,” Zayn drops the forks into the drying rack, “it’s new. Just opened like last week or summat.”

“Good on you for discovering it then.” Liam pops the leftovers into the fridge before wrapping his arms around Zayn’s waist. “You’re a proper Magento.”

“You mean Magellan, babe?” Zayn laughs, turning his head so he can kiss the corner of Liam’s mouth. Liam slips his hands under the front of Zayn’s shirt as he finishes the washing up, singing along when Zayn starts humming an old Usher song.

“C’mon,” Liam says, singing louder, pulling at Zayn’s wrist, trying to get him to dance. It doesn’t matter how hard Zayn refuses, Liam only gets louder and dances more wildly, moving through the kitchen in a way that has Zayn laughing and flushing at the same time. “Zayn, c’mon.” 

Zayn caves when Liam incorporates a sad pout into his routine, doing a quick bump and grind that has him going bright red even as Liam claps gleefully.

“God, stop, no. _Liam_ , no.” He shuffles backwards, putting up a fight when Liam tries to get him back into it. It’s wholly in the name of self-defense that he lets Liam get close enough for Zayn to slip his hands into the waistband of his jeans, pulling him in.

“You are a dirty, dirty cheat,” Liam says between kisses. 

“Me?” Zayn palms his arse, chuckling at the way Liam groans when he squeezes. 

Liam pulls back enough for Zayn to see his narrowed eyes. “Yes, you.”

“I’m just trying to do the dishes.” Zayn steps back, reaching for the last plate. “Now who’s fighting dirty?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Liam says innocently, cupping Zayn’s prick through his joggers. 

It’s all Liam’s fault, really, that they end up trying to kick out of their trousers as they stumble from the kitchen straight to the bedroom.

“You’re really complaining right now?” Liam’s laughing as Zayn pins him up against the wall, kicking the door shut so Loki won’t wander in. They’ve had one too many blow jobs interrupted by Loki bounding in recently.

“Not complaining,” Zayn sinks to his knees, taking Liam’s pants down as he goes, watching the way Liam’s head tips back against the wall when Zayn drags his mouth over his cock. 

“Really?” Liam’s voice gets deeper, rougher when he tries to talk through it, his fingers digging into Zayn’s scalp in a way that sends shivers down Zayn’s spine. “‘Cause it sounded, shit, sounded like --”

“Honestly?” Zayn pulls off to laugh, Liam laughing too, it breaking off when Zayn bites his hip. 

“I was kidding, Zayn, don’t,” Liam sounds slightly worried when Zayn moves away, following like Zayn’s got him on a string, “Zayn.”

“What?” Zayn asks innocently before he pounces, Liam grunting as his back hits the bed, Zayn careful not to catch him in any delicate places. 

“Jesus,” his hand finds Zayn’s head again, fingers threading through Zayn’s hair as he licks around the head of Liam’s cock. His babbling turns incoherent when Zayn drags his thumb over Liam’s hole and then follows the path with his tongue. The angle’s all off but Liam’s hips jerk right off the bed anyway, his cock leaking as it slides through Zayn’s fist.

“You alright?” Zayn wipes his mouth on the back of his wrist. He’s never heard Liam so bloody quiet before. 

Liam’s got his arm flung out, blindly reaching for Zayn, wanting to haul him up. Zayn swallows thickly, presses the heel of his hand against his prick before he pushes up onto the bed, Liam staring at him wide-eyed.

“Fucking hell,” Liam says, finally, laughing on it, pushing Zayn until he’s flat on his back and Liam’s yanking his pants off. “Could’ve come just from that.”

“Kind of the point.” Zayn’s aiming for dry but it falls apart when Liam wraps his hand round Zayn’s prick, guiding it into his mouth. 

Times like this, Zayn wonders if the novelty of shagging Liam will ever wear off. It hasn’t yet, even though they’ve been at it for so long Liam knows exactly what to do to make Zayn feel like he’s catching on fire from within. 

“God, Liam,” he thrusts shallowly into the heat of Liam’s mouth, working against Liam’s hand splayed across his stomach, breath catching when Liam groans around his cock. He’s got one spit-slick finger nudged up against Zayn’s arsehole and fuck, it’s all Zayn can do not to dig his nails into Liam’s neck. “I want…”

He whines when Liam pulls off with an obscene noise, pushing his hips up so his cock smears wet across Liam’s mouth. It doesn’t accomplish anything, only makes Liam take tighter hold of his hips, keeping them down when he asks, “What?”

Zayn’s not shy about asking for things anymore. He knows Liam’s not going to be weird about anything, that he just wants to know what, exactly, Zayn wants and likes. It still takes him a moment to gather himself before he says, “Fuck me.”

Liam’s completely still for a second, even his grip on Zayn’s hips going slack while he processes it. 

“Seriously?” and then, when Zayn nods, “Shit, yeah, just.” 

He seems frantic, like he’s not sure what the next step is, giving Zayn’s cock one last, long lick before sliding up to snog Zayn. He traces the line of Zayn’s beard, looking at Zayn like he’s expecting him to change his mind. Zayn lets him look even though he’s told Liam time and again that not everyone appreciates this kind of sustained eye contact.

“Getting weird, babe,” he says when it’s gone on too long. It makes Liam laugh as he pinches Zayn’s side, stretching for the lube and a condom. He lifts his hips when Liam grabs for a pillow, everything feeling familiar even though it probably shouldn’t. He’s gotten off on Liam’s fingers plenty of times, though, so maybe it should. 

“Alright?” Liam asks, grinning like he already knows the answer when Zayn pushes back against three of his fingers. He’s so hot he feels like his skin could melt right off, his feet sliding along the sheets whenever he tries to get leverage against Liam’s hand. 

“Fuck, Liam, just,” Zayn twists his hand in the pillow under his head, back arching when Liam crooks his fingers just right, “fucking fuck me already, before I come and ruin everything.”

“Wouldn’t ruin it,” Liam argues, pulling a face like Zayn’s ridiculous. It figures. He’s not the one so hard he’s dying for it. “Do you want to turn over?” He moves his hand while he asks, twisting just enough that Zayn has to grip the base of his cock. 

“Fuck’s sake, Li.” Liam chuckles, outright laughs when Zayn kicks his knee. “No, god, want it like this. Want to be able to see you.” He holds his breath when Liam withdraws his hand, focuses on the way Liam’s eyes are crinkling with how hard he’s smiling. “Wait,” he stops Liam from reaching for the condom, shaking his head, “want to feel you.”

“Yeah?” Liam’s eyebrows are practically at his hairline. It’s not the first time; Zayn’s fucked Liam bare before; not often, but it’s not been out of the question since he was sent home from hospital with a technically clean bill of health. Well. Once the stitches came out and his ribs healed. 

He nods, shifting so his legs fall open further, watching Liam’s gaze drift, the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows. Zayn gives his own cock a quick tug; that, of all things, jars Liam into action.

There’s a moment when Zayn’s got his knees to his chest and the head of Liam’s cock pressed against him where everything goes swimmy, Zayn’s breath coming a bit too fast or too slow or too _something_ , making him feel like there’s not enough oxygen in the room. But then Liam’s there, his face looming large right above Zayn’s as he guides one of Zayn’s legs around his waist, pushing his tongue into Zayn’s mouth at the same time as he presses his cock slowly in. 

“Still with me?” Liam slides his hand over Zayn’s ribs, his chest, waiting for him to adjust. When Zayn nods he pulls his hips back, thrusting shallowly, and then deeper, grinning when he knocks all the breath out of Zayn’s lungs. 

“Mean,” Zayn laughs, weakly pushing at Liam’s chest before tentatively grinding his hips down.

“Now who’s mean?” Liam gasps out when Zayn grins at the way Liam’s jaw drops and his cock pulses inside him. It’s fucking mental, being able to feel it this way. “Fuck, Zayn, you’re so,” he ducks his head, biting the curve of Zayn’s neck as he tries to set a good rhythm, “so fucking tight.”

“Yeah?” Zayn hitches his leg higher, reaching back, hoping the headboard will give him some kind of leverage.

“Feels so good,” Liam found it now, shaking groans out of them both with each thrust, “even better than I imagined, god, you’re --”

“You imagined it?” Zayn’s cock twitches at the thought of Liam wanking to this.

“Of course,” Liam says, tilting his head so he can snog Zayn again, his hand reaching between them so he can pull Zayn off, too. Everything falls apart after that, their kiss and Liam’s coordination going sloppy as his hips work faster, Zayn just trying to keep up, his free hand digging into Liam’s neck as he matches the pace Liam’s set. 

“I’m not, Jesus, I’m gonna --” Liam’s adjusts his grip on Zayn’s cock in a last ditch effort to get him off first, but then he’s cursing against Zayn’s cheek and biting his bottom lip hard as he comes, Zayn feeling it in a way that makes his own vision go a bit blurry. 

Zayn’s heart thumps loudly in his chest. Liam’s cock’s still buried deep inside him, his own trapped between their stomachs, Liam’s grip gone slack in the aftermath. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to come this badly in his life, his cock well and truly aching with need. All he wants is to toss himself off while snogging Liam.

Liam’s got other plans, though, and Zayn’s too desperate to do anything but bite his lip when he pulls out, his eyes following a bit of come as it leaks down Zayn’s thigh. 

“Jesus,” he says, almost reverently, eyes dark as he slides his fingers through the come, gathering it up and pushing it back in. Zayn makes a sound like he’s dying when Liam’s two fingers slide in easily.

“Please, Liam,” he hardly recognizes his own voice as he tries to knock Liam’s hand off his cock so he can wank himself. “Your fingers, anything, I just want to come.”

“Okay,” Liam says softly, his gentle hand on Zayn’s side a stark contrast to the way Zayn feels like he’s going to combust, “here, just, there you go.” 

Zayn’s rolled over before he’s aware of what’s happening, on his hands and knees with Liam spreading him open enough to lick right over his hole. It sends a jolt through Zayn like he’s been electrocuted. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he pushes back, dropping his head and gasping when he feels Liam’s tongue dip inside him, tentative at first and then not at all. He understands now why Liam had gone incoherent and then silent when Zayn’d done this earlier because it’s like his entire body has shut down, so overwhelmed by the sensation of Liam licking him out that he can’t do anything at all for a moment. 

He groans at the scrape of Liam’s stubble against his skin, getting louder when that makes Liam moan, too, sending vibrations through Zayn’s whole body. He presses his forehead against the mattress, wishing for a moment that he could get a picture of it, how Liam must look, fucked out and flushed, his lips red and slick and swollen. God, he needs to come. 

Zayn gets his shit together enough to shift his weight so he can jerk off, one, two, three strokes before his whole body’s tensing, coming so hard he loses his breath for a moment. Liam’s tongue traces lazy circles around Zayn’s rim as he shudders through it.

He collapses sideways, dimly aware of Liam’s hands on his hips. “What the _fuck_?” he laughs, dead tired but giddy, blinking his eyes open to find Liam staring down at him. Zayn was right, he makes a real picture. He reaches for Liam, his limbs too much like jelly to be coordinated, but Liam understands, sliding in close so they’re tangled together. 

“S’good, right?” he asks, sounding shy almost, like Zayn hasn’t got jizz on his bloody neck from coming so hard. Zayn laughs, kissing him quickly. He thinks he can feel Liam’s heart thudding in his chest, but it could just be his own.

“Good? Fuck, Liam, that was…” Zayn hasn’t got the words. Liam’s stolen them all from him, knocked everything out of his brain that isn’t this, right here, right now. It’s easier to snog Liam than to try and sort it out, let Liam translate the way Zayn’s mouth’s curved into a permanent smile.

“For me, too.” Liam keeps his voice low, almost a whisper, like he doesn’t want to shatter whatever this moment is. Zayn thinks it’s a moment, at least. It feels delicate somehow, with Liam tracing the bumps of Zayn’s spine, their heads on the same pillow.

He tilts his chin so his lips brush gently over Liam’s, a ghost of a kiss more than a proper one. He watches the way Liam’s eyes drift closed, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. There’s still a bit of a flush tinging his skin. Zayn slides his thumb underneath Liam’s lip, memorizing the curve of it, the twin spots on his chin where he can’t grow a beard, the way his nose twitches when Zayn’s fingertips drag over the ticklish part of his jaw.

“Now who’s being creepy?” Liam murmurs, startling a quiet laugh out of Zayn.

“I’m --” he starts to pull his hand away but Liam covers it with his own, turning just enough to press a kiss to the center of Zayn’s palm, so softly Zayn shivers. He tries not to think about how lucky he is, doesn’t want to risk jinxing it, but sometimes Liam makes it impossible to ignore. 

“You were. Super creepy.” Liam’s got his eyes closed again, a smile playing at his lips. “The creepiest.”

“Shut up,” Zayn laughs as Liam pulls him into a hug, hiding his smile in Zayn’s neck. The ache’s starting to set in; Zayn knows they can’t lie here forever, that Liam’ll be bundling him into the toilet before he knows it.

“Didn’t say I minded,” Liam says, kissing the hinge of Zayn’s jaw and wrapping his arms around Zayn’s waist, Zayn shifting until he can rest his head on Liam’s chest. They can’t lie here forever, but he’s not moving without a fight.

**

“This is unbelievable,” Liam says when Zayn wins another round, “are you like, hiding cards?”

Zayn looks at his naked lap, barely covered by the bedsheet, and then holds up his hands. “Where?”

“I don’t know,” Liam laughs, “you’re the cheater!”

Zayn rolls his eyes as he starts to deal. “Don’t blame me because you’re still shit at this game.”

It’d been Liam’s idea to play in the first place, unearthing the cards from the nightstand while Zayn was still toweling his hair dry, the start of a second wind making him feel wide awake, borderline jittery. Liam had been sleepy-eyed in the shower, looked moments from dropping off, but he’d thrown himself onto the clean sheets with gusto, flattening a spot for them to play on. And he’s still going strong, even as Zayn feels himself starting to flag. 

Liam scowls at the insult, tickling the sole of Zayn’s foot instead of saying anything. Zayn twitches away, laughing.

“What time’s your shift tomorrow?” Liam asks as they lay out their cards. “Six, right?”

“Yeah. Same as your party.” They can’t sync up their schedules the way they used to, most of Liam’s gigs too random to coordinate with Zayn’s, but they’re trying when they can. “Should be done around the same time, too, so.” Zayn waggles his eyebrows.

“Sick.” Liam slaps the center pile a beat too slowly, frowning when Zayn cheers. “Think, ah, I mean, Harry texted me, said he’s going to be there, too.”

“Texted me, too.” Zayn nods, Liam looking surprised. “Wanted to know what color tie you were wearing. Think he was going to try to match you, make it seem like an accident.”

“He’s such a nutter,” Liam laughs quietly. “What’d --”

“Said you were wearing a neckerchief.” Zayn shrugs when Liam’s jaw drops, his laugh shaking the bed a bit. 

“No. Zayn! What if he shows up in one?” 

“So? Haz won’t care.” He’ll get a kick out of it, Zayn knows. Won’t find it as hilarious as if Zayn’d found a way to turn it into a pun of some sort, but he’ll still think it’s a laugh. He shrugs, eyes narrowing when he notices Liam staring at him strangely. “What?”

“Just glad you two are talking again, I guess.” Liam plays his cards, distracting Zayn for a moment and winning the round. 

He’s glad too. Relieved more than anything, but it’s still not… It’s not the same, not the way it was. Zayn looks up when Liam bumps their knees together, finds Liam watching him curiously. Zayn shrugs, sighing.

“He’s like… dunno,” Zayn worries his lip, staring down at the cards in front of him, “I feel horrible for like…” he trails off, shaking his head. He’d told Liam about Harry coming by, how he’d been beating himself up over Louis, of all things. Liam hadn’t seemed as surprised by that as Zayn was.

He exhales heavily, pressing his thumb under his eyebrow. “Think I messed him up bad, Liam.”

“You didn’t.”

“He told me I left him the same way Caz did!” The guilt’s been niggling at him ever since Harry left that day, everything pushing to the surface now. “Harry was so bloody happy all the time and then I moved in and I fucking destroyed _everything_.” 

He shakes his head at how selfish he’s been, leeching all the good parts out of Harry, turning him into some warped husk of himself. Making him sad and strangely angry. 

“Alright,” Liam manages to look kind even as he rolls his eyes, patting Zayn’s shin soothingly, “you’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” Because he’s basically repeating what Harry’d told him, straight to his face. Zayn’s been turning it over in his head ever since, can’t find anything but the blunt truth of it.

“Yes! You didn’t destroy Harry, you donut. So he went through a rough patch. Who hasn’t, hmm?” Liam raises his eyebrows pointedly. “Harry’s still here, isn’t he? And he’s got a proper job and Niall. Those are all good things, Zayn.”

“I just left him, Liam! Without saying anything! Just left him there all alone and I didn’t even realize I’d done it!” 

“You didn’t,” Liam pauses, mouth twisting up while he thinks, “it wasn’t a disappearing act, yeah? Harry’s always known where to find you, and you could’ve gone to him, too. I know you didn’t,” he says quickly, before Zayn can protest, “but you both could have. No one was _missing_ is what I’m saying. And like, think of how much you’d been at the flat before you got hurt.”

It hadn’t been much. Zayn’s always hated sleeping on that bloody sofa, and with Niall around it’d been easier to pack off to Liam’s all the time. Still.

“Still left him, though.”

“Yeah,” Liam nods, “because you moved out. Not because you got bored and tossed him out.”

Zayn wrinkles his nose at Liam’s bluntness.

“Could it’ve gone better? Obviously. A lot of things could have. I would’ve loved to have you move in proper, with a key and boxes, instead of carting you home from hospital and forcing you to stay here.”

“You didn’t force me,” Zayn mutters. It had been less than ideal circumstances, but he’s not sure what would’ve happened without it. If he’d still be telling himself he lived with Harry and Niall, paying rent and staying there once every few weeks to keep the illusion alive.

Liam taps Zayn’s ankle bone, saying, “I know, I’m just saying.”

Zayn nods, sagging against the headboard. Logically he knows that, but he hates that he’s the one making Harry feels like he’s been abandoned again. He, of all people, knows how shit it is to get left.

“It’s not the same,” Liam leans forward, sliding his hand up until it’s curved around Zayn’s knee, warm and solid and pulling him from his thoughts, “I promise.”

“He’s a mess now, Liam. Because of _me_.” Everything that’s gone wrong lately traces right back to him.

“Zayn.” The way Liam says it makes Zayn want to crawl across the bed and curl into his arms. He holds his breath instead, looking at the cards he’s still inexplicably holding. He can’t hide from this. “Harry’s a mess because he was doing a piss-poor job of dealing with a lot of shit. He’s doing a better job now, but it’s going to take time. You and I both know how long it can take, right?”

Zayn turns the cards end over end. Of fucking course he knows how long it can take. That’s half the problem. “It’s Harry, Liam. He can’t be miserable for months.”

Liam’s moving the second Zayn’s voice wavers, sending cards all across the bed as he gathers him close. 

“He won’t be,” he says softly, firmly. Zayn really wants to believe him. He’s been right so many times before. “Look how much better he’s doing already, hmm?”

“I guess.” He knows Liam’s got a point, knows that Harry’s already begun hauling himself out of the depths.

“You guess?” Liam jokes, eyebrows raised. “You tricked Haz into wearing a neckerchief to a black tie event tomorrow but you don’t believe he’s doing any better at all?”

“I --”

“He’s going to be alright, love.” Liam curls his arm tighter around Zayn’s shoulders, kissing the top of his head. Zayn can feel the way Liam’s chest expands as he inhales, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of his own. “He’s got you and me and Nialler and he’s already trying so hard. You’ve just… you’ve got to have a little faith in him. In everything. It’ll all work out.”

Zayn touches the bird tattoo on his hand as he lets hope take tentative root in his brain. He remembers how pleased Harry’d been after they got inked, calling them matchers, pulling his collar down so Zayn could get a good look at his swallows. Zayn remembers how stupidly happy he’d been, too. 

“Been thinking of adding to mine,” Liam changes the subject with a deft hand, tapping his forearm when Zayn looks up, confused, “getting a fourth one. Niall’s been around for ages, it feels right. You want to come with one afternoon?”

Zayn’s stomach hurts a little with how much Liam loves everyone, how quick he is to offer his friendship. How unwavering it is once you’ve got it. Christ, Harry’s got more than a fighting chance with Liam on his side.

“Of course.” Zayn smiles, Liam’s eyes crinkling happily in return. “Besides, I’ve been saving up for another, too. Might as well go together.”

“Secret savings?” Liam shifts back, genuine surprise showing through his grin. “Secret tattoo plans? Do I at least get to know what it is?”

Zayn’s been kicking around a few ideas for awhile now, considering adding to his arm, filling in some of the gaps, but nothing’s seemed right. Except one thing.

“What, a king?” Liam frowns when Zayn holds up a playing card.

“No, a card, like. I was thinking I’d get my initials in these corners, and then L.P. here.” He watches Liam’s face as he points, waiting for the moment he realizes. It’s like watching a sunrise. “Just can’t decide where it should go. Do you think...” Zayn holds the card over his hip, his bicep, honestly unsure where he wants to put it.

“Zayn. Are you being serious?”

He stops, arms akimbo as he holds the card over his ribs. He nods. “Told you, I’ve been saving up for awhile.” He looks down at his hands, the bird and bus 1, faded but still there. “It’s your turn, yeah?”

Liam wastes no time leaning in to kiss him, his hand covering Zayn’s, the playing card curving around his ribs. That’s where he’ll get it then. 

“Jesus,” Liam pulls back to laugh, “forget Niall, I’m gonna get one for you.”

“Don’t be daft.” Zayn touches the middle chevron, remembering how overwhelmed he’d been the first time he saw it. Liam’s always laid it all out on the line, ever since day one. “You already have one.”

“Doesn’t count, though.”

“It counts, babe.” More than anything else, Zayn thinks. It’s always been there. Liam’s always been there. “It definitely counts.”

&&&

 _Niall said ur off this afternoon?_ Harry really has to work himself up to sending it; he and Zayn have texted a handful of times in the days (weeks now, Harry supposes) since they had their row. But. Harry can’t decide which is worse, avoiding Zayn or trying to talk to him again.

 _Y_ Zayn sends back. It’s just one bloody letter, but he sent it right back. Zayn was always touch and go about texting and calling and anything to do with his phone; sometimes he’d reply immediately, sometimes it’d be days and Harry would find his phone dead somewhere in the flat and he’d charge it before he gave it back to him. But now; he’s loads better.

It hasn’t been much, but Harry’s noticed. He wonders if it’s Liam. Or if it’s Zayn. Or if it’s because of Harry. Either way.

_Wanna come over? Tea? Chat?_

Harry bites his lip after he sends it. Niall won’t let up, not after Harry told him exactly what Zayn had said. What Harry had been thinking. Keeps saying how important it is that he makes it right with Zayn fully. And Harry wants that, he does. He doesn’t know what’s holding him back. Everything just feels hard. Better every day, but still hard.

_K, be there soon_

Harry stares at his phone for a second before he sets it on the table, getting up to start the kettle.

**

Zayn lets himself in the flat; it’s odd, how much that relaxes Harry, makes him feel like he can spread out more, be less on edge. He’d been sitting and staring at the door, waiting for Zayn to knock. Knowing that when he did, Harry’d feel dreadful about it. But he doesn’t.

“Hazza,” Zayn nods, pulling off his beanie and running his hand through his hair. It’s gotten longer, so much different from the close cropped sides he used to keep. It makes Harry reach up and tug at his own messy bun, can feel how there are curls escaping from the back. Back when he first met Zayn, he still had a fringe. 

“Hey, Zayner,” Harry steps forward, takes in how Zayn’s face really does look back to normal now. There’s a shadow, like, a little spot above his eye that looks like a scar. 

Zayn makes a face after a moment. “Haz, you’re,” he waves his hand in front of his eyes, “staring, like.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry laughs, feeling like he can, “you look...I dunno. Better? Happy?”

“Well,” Zayn smiles, pushing past Harry for the kitchen and the cuppa Harry’s left on the table for him in his favorite mug, “good eye, Haz, because I’m both those things.”

“I was always good at reading you, Z,” Harry sits carefully across from Zayn, watches him take a sip. “It’s good, yeah? That you’re…”

“It is,” Zayn shrugs, running his fingers around the edge of his mug.

They sit there for a moment, sort of like they used to in the mornings after Harry realized that Zayn liked it when he’d stuff it, just for a bit sometimes. 

“Hazza,” Zayn says softly, and when Harry looks up he’s staring at him intently. “You’re better too, right? Feeling proper happy?”

Harry thinks about it for a moment, knows that Zayn won’t rush him, not even after all this time. He thinks about it, really does. How Niall’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, that Zayn was right all those months ago about him being dreamed up in a lab and perfect for Harry. How much fun he’s had at the parties he’s gone to lately, everything and everyone so nice that he’s only just realizing how desperate everything had gotten, really. How Jeff had sent him a hundred quid with a note that he’ll miss him but hopes he does great things in his life. How he and Liam had gotten into a row like they used to after a party they were both at the other day, ended up having a laugh. 

“I am,” Harry can’t keep the surprised tone out of his voice. Things had been so rubbish that he hadn’t really realized -- well, Harry supposes, he’d forgotten how to trust his own feelings.

“You sure about that, mate?” Zayn’s still got that furrow in his brow, “you sound -- I dunno how you sound.”

“I,” Harry shrugs, “it was always so easy to be happy, that when I stopped...I didn’t know how to again. Guess I figured it out.”

Zayn looks at him a moment before he nods, his mouth turning down a bit.

“It’s funny sometimes,” he says, sounding far away to Harry, almost like it’s one of their quiet nights bundled up on Penelope way back in the beginning, “how you feel a certain way for so long, but your brain doesn’t catch up. Maybe not ‘til you’re ready.”

“How it was for you, right?” Harry nudges his hand forward, just to poke once at the bird on Zayn’s hand. Zayn smiles.

“I dunno, I wonder sometimes,” Zayn takes a deep breath, “if things all took as long as they should, or if I missed out on bits because I was so in it. In being a miserable twat.”

“You mean, like I’ve been a miserable twat?” Harry pokes at the bird again, testing out a grin.

“You said it, not me,” Zayn mumbles into his tea, flicking his eyes over at Harry and smiling again, “if anything, I taught you all the ways of misery.”

“Zayn, it’s not --” Harry fumbles when Zayn arches his brow. He wanted Zayn to come over for a chat to make it right, try to help instead of this, Zayn telling him how much they’ve ruined each other.

“Just how you taught me to be alright again. Hazza, I,” Zayn takes a deep breath before he continues, Harry feeling on edge, “I don’t think I ever said how much it’s meant. I was a bloody mess and you forced me out of it.”

“But Liam’s been,” Harry stops, feeling unsure with what he means to say. “You being with Liam’s been so...you’re _good_ now, Zayn.”

Zayn shakes his head. “I am, Hazza. And Liam’s, he’s like everything to me. But he’s different. I couldn’t be like, a proper good version of myself for him, or be with him, if you didn’t help me.”

“I mainly hated being alone,” Harry whispers, holding Zayn’s hand now, full stop. “It used to drive me mad. I’d just thought I liked having any people about, but now I don’t know anymore. I think it’s about the person. People, I don’t know.”

“No matter the reason,” Zayn shrugs, “I figured out a lot of stuff because of you. You’re my best mate, Hazza. In a way no one else is.”

“And,” he adds, thumb tracing over the knob of Harry’s knuckle, “I’m really sorry that I left how I did. I know it was fucked up, what happened to me. And me leaving after didn’t help. Even if it was going to happen anyway, the way of it was shit. I never wanted any of that to make you realize stuff you hadn’t before, like?”

Harry sits, feeling stunned. It’s like even if Zayn left, he’s back. Even though Harry was a miserable twat and ruined shit, he’s back. 

“I should have been to see you,” Harry finally chokes out, feeling his throat go thick with how hard he’s trying not to cry, “I shouldn’t have done a lot of things. I’m sorry, about Louis.”

Zayn sighs, looking tired. “Harry, I told you--”

“I know, but,” Harry shakes his head, “I get it, because I think now I see it, that there’s different kinds of love, like we’d tried to figure, ages ago. Maybe they mean different things, maybe some can hurt more or less. Maybe some shouldn’t last, just as much as others should?”

“Makes sense,” Zayn says, slow. “It’s sort of like how I figured things, after all’s said and done, but. Harry. The Louis thing.”

“I mean that I’m sorry,” Harry tries to figure out the best way to explain it, what he’s been realizing, “I kept up with him and never told you. You’re my best mate and I love you, and I should have told you. Even if it made you sad.”

“Made me more sad when you were getting pills off him.”

“That’s part of why…” Harry pulls his hand back from Zayn’s. He pulls his hair out, shaking it loose to try and ease the headache he’s got suddenly. “I still haven’t, talked to him that is.”

“Harry,” Zayn laughs, softly, “Louis came looking for you, to make sure you were alright.”

“Wait,” Harry’s stomach drops, “did I make you see him _again_? Fuck, I’m more rubbish than I thought.”

“No no,” Zayn shakes his head, “I was at work. Liam had the pleasure.”

“So do I need to beg Liam for forgiveness?” Harry tries the joke, even though he feels wretched about it. “Grovel at his feet?”

“Liam’s fine,” Zayn smiles, “was probably good for him, in a way. Listen,” his face gets serious, enough that Harry sits up a bit, “no matter how things ended with Louis and me, he tried, in his own way, to help you. It’s shit, that he gave you pills, but Louis approaches things differently. He righted himself in the end.

“So if you want to keep up with him, that’s not gonna change you and me, Harry. At the very least, you should probably let him know yourself that you’re not dead in an alley somewhere.”

“Didn’t Liam tell him I wasn’t?” Harry knows Liam has his own history with Louis, but that seems off.

Zayn snorts. “Of course he did, Hazza, but Louis’s the type who needs to see it to believe it.”

“I’ll tell him I’m not dead. And if I talk to him, I’ll tell you.”

“Okay,” Zayn groans, rubbing at his face, “let’s get this straight, I am fine with you being mates with Louis, but I don’t have to know every time you see him.”

“Less is more, but zero is bad,” Harry makes a tight circle with his fingers, grinning at Zayn until he laughs. “That can be our mantra, Zayn. Like we’re proper best mates.”

“We already were, Hazza,” Zayn’s grinning, his voice muffled in Harry’s chest when Harry pulls him up into a hug, “but sure.”

It’s not perfect, Harry thinks when Zayn’s arms wrap around him a bit too tight like he’s worried Harry’s gonna float away, but he’ll settle for good, right now. 

**

“Wait,” Harry stops with a stack of t-shirts in his arms, staring at Zayn on the bed, “ _Liam_ did that?”

“Yeah, it was so sick,” Zayn shrugs, frowning when he holds up a shirt, “Harry, did you cut the sleeves off this? This was one of my favorites.”

“It can still be your favorite,” Harry dumps the rest of the t-shirts in front of Zayn. 

It’s still tentative, this thing between them; like learning how to walk again, in a way. After their talk yesterday Zayn had to leave for his evening shift, but things had felt so good that Harry’d spent all morning combing the flat for every last little thing of Zayn’s. Went and bought a gift bag and all. When Zayn had come over and Harry presented it to him, he’d laughed, hard, before hugging Harry like nothing had ever changed. Then he’d frowned and pinched at Harry’s arm before asking him just how many of his clothes were in Harry’s wardrobe.

It’s nice, even when Zayn is moaning on about how Harry’s nicked half his tops and ruined more than what is acceptable. It took a bit to get him to warm up, but all Harry’d asked was a question about how things with Liam were going, wink wink. Set Zayn off quiet before he’d asked if Harry’d ever -- in a voice like he was asking if Harry had tried some new tea or something.

“Nah, you keep it,” Zayn wrinkles up his nose, “what happened to the sleeves, anyway?”

“Um,” Harry thinks for a moment, “think I used one for a headband, and then it looked weird with just one sleeve so I cut the other off as well.”

“Sure,” Zayn laughs, tossing it to the side and picking through the pile, “makes sense.”

“Zayn,” Harry dumps the last bit of his clothes on the end of Penelope and crawls up next to Zayn, poking at his shoulder. “So he like, licked it out? Our Liam?”

Zayn sighs, “I already said. Hazza, did you _draw_ on this one?”

“This is not important right now, Zayn,” Harry pulls at the t-shirt, “you can’t just say that and not answer my _questions_.”

“What’s to answer?” Zayn smiles, biting at his lip before looking away like he’s embarrassed, like he gets when he and Harry talk about this stuff, “I shouldn’t have said, just been thinking about it a lot, since it happened.”

“You should always say!” Harry stops himself, feeling a weird sense of sadness wash over him, “Zayn, I’m sorry that I haven’t been around for you to talk about this, it’s so shit.”

“Well,” Zayn toys with the edge of another shirt in the pile between them, his hair falling down in his eye, “I don’t need to talk about it, I just asked if you’d ever -- Harry, no, stop --”

It’s too late, Harry can’t help it when he tackles Zayn in a hug, stretching out over him so they’re half rolled on top of the piles of clothes. Zayn gives up struggling after a minute, his hand coming up to pat awkwardly at Harry’s back. 

“I haven’t,” Harry says, his lips smushed up against Zayn’s neck. “I don’t do much of that on the job, to be honest.” Had always seemed like a line he didn’t cross, that if he didn’t think of it, it wasn’t really a boundary and he was as open as always. Haven’t yet, with Niall.

“I hadn’t, at all,” Zayn says after a moment, sounding far away, “never thought to, really, not til the moment. Liam went like, proper quiet.”

“Zaaayn,” Harry draws out his name, poking at his side, “you’re the most innocent former hooker of all time.”

“Stuff it,” Zayn pushes at Harry’s wrist, “just never...I always kept it like, in a different place in my brain? I dunno. It’s extra fucked, when I think of it now. I was never like you, Haz.”

“I mean,” Harry shrugs, feeling out of sorts for a moment before he can gather himself, “I think I’m changing, how that goes. Niall’s like, set me in a spin, a bit?”

“Mmmm,” Zayn hums, tugging at the ends of Harry’s hair. Harry knows that if he looks up at Zayn’s face he’ll look lost in thought. “How’s that going?”

“Good,” Harry thinks about it, snogging Niall late at night when they’re both tired from work, Niall’s slow smile when he tells Harry to go the fuck to sleep, “it’s been a bit of a reset, since my...since everything. Slower, like. I had gone proper nympho.”

“Or improper nympho,” Zayn’s joking, but his grip tightens on Harry, just enough so that Harry settles into him further. It’s going to be okay. 

“Just, I’m finding my own way again,” Harry bites his lip, taking a deep breath. “Like you, a bit, after Louis.”

Zayn’s silent for a moment, his chest rising and falling slowly under Harry’s cheek. 

“Got up to a lot of things with Louis,” he says, words coming out all pushed together, “it’s odd, that. How at the time I viewed it different. Dunno, now I sort of think of it as something I’m glad happened, in a certain sense. It’s not...I like it, relearning everything, like. With Liam. In a lot of ways.”

“Ways with Liam’s tongue,” Harry laughs, Zayn following suit after a moment. It rumbles through his chest. 

“Mate,” Zayn’s still laughing, “you don’t know the half of it.”

“If you’d just _tell_ me,” Harry starts, but Zayn’s already pushing Harry off so he can sit up, shaking his head and batting away Harry’s hands from his sides.

“Told you enough, Hazza,” Zayn smiles, “now, back to business.”

**

Harry waits until it’s a day he knows both Niall and Zayn are at the pub before he goes. He doesn’t know why, just feels like it’s best that way. Not that he’s going to keep it to himself, he just feels better about it. He’s almost there when he gives in, dialing Liam.

“Hazza!” Liam sounds happy when he answers, “what’s on?”

“I’m,” Harry stops at the corner near the flat, worrying his lip between his teeth. “I’m on my way to see Louis?”

“Oh,” Liam says, then after a beat of silence, “you sure? That sounded a bit like a question.”

“No, I am,” Harry takes a deep breath, “I’ve been meaning to say, Zayn told me that he--”

“He stopped by, yeah,” Liam sighs, and it hurts a bit to hear, “think he was proper worried about you, mate.”

“He gave me fake pills.” Harry doesn’t know why he’s telling Liam things he already knows. “And then no pills at all.”

“I know,” Liam’s voice is gentle. “Hazza, you don’t have to like...if you’re asking if it’s alright to see him? Zayn said that he told you, that you should.”

“I guess,” Harry crosses the street, the building in view now, “I just felt like I had to make sure.”

“Hey,” Liam’s still got his calming voice on. It helps. “If I thought we could all be mates with Louis, that it’d be alright, I’d...well, I’d think about it, anyway. You don’t have the same shit clouding over it like Zayn and I got with him, fucking it up.”

“Even with everything?” Harry stops, staring at the door. 

“Yeah,” Liam sounds firm, “it’s probably good, I feel like Louis tries more with you. You’re good for him, Hazza.”

“Sure,” Harry shrugs, earning an odd look from a woman passing by. He must look a sight.

“Just how you’re good for us all,” Liam continues, “erm, just be careful, is all. We’ll talk later.”

“Cheers.” Harry rings off, Liam’s words echoing in his mind. At first, when things were getting better and he had Niall and Zayn and Liam telling him how much he’s done he’d thought it was just them gassing him up so he wouldn’t fuck about again. Now, though. He thinks maybe it’s a little bit true.

“It’s open, twat,” Louis’s voice calls out when Harry knocks. He hesitates for a moment before opening it, doesn’t want to have this talk if Louis is in a shit mood because he had to get up.

“Oh,” Louis’s eyes go wide when Harry walks in, he and Eleanor tangled up on the sofa. She’s reading something, her legs in Louis’s lap. She tips her head up, giving Harry a long look.

“You’re not Olly,” she says, laughing, “the shop is closed, Harry.”

“I’m not,” Harry starts, but Louis is already nudging at her shoulder.

“El,” he says, a tone to his voice that Harry can’t place. She sighs, laughing softly before looking at Louis. It’s like they’re having an entire conversation, feels so intimate that Harry wants to leave already. 

“Alright,” El says finally, untangling herself from Louis and standing up. She walks over to Harry and puts her finger on his chin, staring at him like she’s assessing something. 

“You look good,” she says, tilting her head, “I’m gonna go read in the bedroom, leave you two to it.”

“Cheers,” Harry says, both he and Louis watching her go.

“So you’re done ignoring me then?” Louis asks, and Harry turns his attention back to him. He’s spread out on the sofa now, legs splayed out wide, head tipped back. He looks comfortable.

“I…” Harry takes a deep breath, unsure even after thinking on it for forever what to say. “I just needed a break.”

“Sure,” Louis shrugs, “no skin off my back.”

“Zayn,” Harry starts, watching Louis’s face carefully to see how he reacts. Maybe his mouth quirks up a bit; Harry’s not sure. “Him, and -- and Liam, told me how you came looking for me.”

“Huh,” Louis shifts, patting the sofa next to him. “Not like you, to not answer.”

Harry sits carefully. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Couple of real heroes, those two.” Louis doesn’t sound bitter, not like how Harry would have thought. “Storming in here, keeping tabs. Both of them having their say with me.”

“Guess they needed to?” Harry looks down at his hands, got them tightly folded in his lap. 

“Probably.” Louis sighs. “Listen, I’ve fucked up more than my share. Suppose they earned that, to tell me off.”

“Maybe now, we all could --” Harry stops when Louis makes an awful face. It’s not out of the question, Harry thinks. Not perfect, but maybe not all tilted sideways. 

“It’s not about that,” Louis turns his head and meets Harry’s eyes. He seems about as sober as Harry’s ever seen him. 

“What’s it about, then?” Harry asks. He’s not sure what Louis is getting at, not really.

“Feel less like there’s this,” Louis waves his hand above his head, “all this shit hanging over me, you know? All this shit I’ve done just sitting there, reminding me what a twat I am.”

“Oh.” Harry gets it, is the thing. It’s how he’d felt all this time, that he’d ruined things for Zayn. He knows he could never explain that to Louis, not without making Louis’s eyes go narrow and bloodshot how Harry hates. “I get it.”

“Do you now?” Louis’s voice is sharp even though it’s soft, and he’s staring at Harry. 

“Thanks,” Harry responds, “for not giving me more.” Louis looks uncomfortable, but Harry knows that he had to say it.

“Yeah, well,” Louis shrugs, “onward and upward, Harold.”

“I’ll answer, now,” Harry stands up, knows that he’s probably wearing out Louis’s patience, likes to leave it at a nice place with him, “if you call? Zayn said, he said that --”

Louis grimaces, Harry trailing off. He shifts his weight back and forth, waiting for Louis to say something. It takes a minute.

“You wanna stay for a bit of telly?” Louis looks away, shrugging like he doesn’t care either way. “El’s revising and I don’t think my mate’s coming, so.”

“Alright, yeah.” Harry can’t help the bounce in his step when he settles back on the sofa. “I don’t have anything on for tonight, did Liam mention? I’m at the agency now, it’s been --”

“Fucking hell, did I ask for the news?” Louis laughs, “Big Brother is on, can you shut your mouth for one fucking second?”

“Shutting it,” Harry glances over at Louis as they watch. He’s not doing too bad, he supposes. Harry will take what he can get. Less is more. Zero is bad. 

**

When Liam brings over their fresh pints, his eyes are already bright, his cheeks flushed. 

“Liam,” Harry laughs, poking at his shoulder, “how many have you had?”

“I dunno,” Liam’s grin is bright, “know the barkeep, though. Think he’s overserving me.”

Harry can see that Zayn’s looking over at them from the bar, a wide smile on his face. Even from across the room, Harry can tell it’s his one he does where his tongue is pushing out between his teeth. 

“Think so,” Harry pokes at Liam’s shoulder again, “think you’re in for it later.”

“Hope so,” Liam tries to wink, failing miserably before he laughs.

“Or maybe he’s in for it,” Harry starts, about to launch into Zayn’s tales of Liam in bed when Niall comes up behind Harry, closing his hands over Harry’s eyes.

“Guess who?” he asks, Harry placing Liam’s bright laugh across the table.

“Dunno,” Harry reaches up and closes his hands around Niall’s wrists, “Bono?”

“Christ,” Niall pulls his hands away, sitting next to Harry and taking a drink of his beer. He wipes his mouth on Harry’s shoulder, Harry pulling away. “You gotta learn some more Irish people, Hazza. Otherwise, there’s no point to this.”

“Bressie’s Irish,” Liam points out, very unhelpfully even though that sets Niall off. His knee is going mad under the table. Harry puts his hand on Niall’s thigh, trying to calm it.

“Niall,” Harry squeezes, Niall’s leg going calm for a brief moment before starting up again. He’s biting at his thumb like he does when he’s proper nervous.

“I’m gonna be fine,” Niall says, like he’s trying to convince himself. 

“More than,” Harry leans over, pressing a quick kiss to Niall’s cheek. He’s almost frowning with it, all the nerves.

“I was gonna save this, but,” Liam’s got half his pint gone already, biting at his lip when he rolls up his sleeve. Harry’s about to ask what he’s on about when he notices, the fourth chevron that almost looks darker than the rest.

“Liam,” Harry says, reaching over and touching the slightly pink skin round it. “You got a Niall.” 

“Wait,” Niall leans forward, his breathing gone funny, “for me?”

“Yeah,” Liam grins, shrugging when he looks down, “been thinking about it for a while, Zayn and I went the other day.”

“Liam,” Niall’s leg has settled down, gone still under Harry’s hand, “if I ever got inked, I’d -- well, I’d probably get something about Ireland.”

“Oi,” Harry protests, Liam laughing loud. Harry’d been thinking about it lately, getting something for Niall. Feels more sure about that than anything else he’s ever done. 

“It felt off, is all,” Liam’s still laughing, “think I’m settled, now.” He taps them all as he talks, starts at the top and back down, then up again. “Think I’m happy with it.”

“Course,” Niall looks like he’s about to say something, but then he looks over Harry’s head and nods. Harry turns, sees that it’s Bressie, signaling wildly. “Shit. It’s time.”

“You’re gonna be ace, mate,” Liam raises his glass. “Proper ace.”

“Niall,” Harry kisses him quick before he jets off, “you’re the best, yeah?”

“Sure sure,” Niall’s grinning though, turning round for one more kiss before he’s off. 

Zayn wanders over a few minutes later, when Niall’s just about to start. He squeezes at Harry’s arm before he sits next to Liam, hooking his chin over Liam’s shoulder and kissing the side of his face, quickly. It makes Harry feel warm inside, to see it. 

“Meant to tell you, Zayner,” Harry reaches over to pinch at Zayn’s side, “love the sign you did for tonight.” Zayn’s been slowly doing more like that, signs tacked up all over the bar for events, the chalkboard outside always filled with something new whenever Harry stops by. 

“Wanted to do something special, yeah?” Zayn grins, taking a drink from the bottle of water he’d brought over with him. “Niall’s been shitting himself all day over it.”

“He sounded ace the other night when I came home,” Liam turns his head, looking over at Zayn, and Harry tries to catch up.

“Wait, he played his set for you?” Harry pouts. Niall’s been refusing, making Harry wait for it.

“Zayn’s like, his test audience?” Liam says, stealing Zayns water from him and taking a long drink. “Cheers, babe, needed that.”

“I would have brought you your own,” Zayn grumbles, before smiling over at Harry. “Yeah Haz, you’ve been on lockdown. I’m his sounding board.”

“This feels unfair,” Harry protests, lowering his voice to a whisper when the lights go dim and Niall’s illuminated on the small stage.

“After months upon bloody months,” he starts, Bressie booing loud from the side of the stage, “it’s finally here. Know that some of you have heard me before, so for that, I’d like to apologize.”

Liam sticks his fingers in his mouth, whistling loud. Zayn makes a face, turning to Harry and rolling his eyes. 

“Anyway,” Niall takes a deep breath, “my big debut. Thought I’d start with a song I’ve been working on for ages, hope it’s up to snuff.”

He pauses for a second before he starts; Harry knows he’s collecting himself, hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until Niall starts playing. Harry’s chest feels tight with it, exhaling hard and earning a look from both Liam and Zayn. 

It’s good; it’s so bloody good. Niall’s barely into the singing bit when Harry recognizes it, snatches and bits of lyrics from things he’s seen in Niall’s book, things Niall’s said to him late at night when there’s no one else around. 

Makes the world stop, a little bit. He can’t look away, not even when Zayn reaches for his arm. Niall’s looking over at him the whole time he sings, so much that Harry’s sure he’s the one with a spotlight on him. It all surges up and around him, like a wave. 

Niall’s singing about how he’s there, about how he’s going to carry Harry through anything and everything. It’s all things he’s said before, things he’s made Harry feel before, but it still feels brand new and laid out bare, in front of all these people. Harry’s not sure how he’s gotten here, to this point. With anyone and everything. 

The whole pub is silent except for Niall, and Harry’s not sure he’s ever felt happier.

**

“I know you’ve got your adoring public,” Harry says, shoving Niall down on the sofa, “but I’ve been dying, Nialler.”

“Fuck,” Niall arches his back up when Harry grinds down into him, slipping his tongue into Niall’s mouth, “this shit sofa, my back’s gonna be fucked.”

“Here,” Harry sits up, pulling at Niall so he can arrange him on the less shit side of the sofa, Harry on his knees in front of him. 

“Harry, we can,” Niall starts, before Harry’s leaning forward to lick a wide stripe over Niall’s flies, mouthing at his jeans. “Fucking hell, Hazza.”

“Soz,” Harry pulls back, laughing and feeling giddy with it, “can’t wait, you were, just.”

“It was alright then?” Niall groans when Harry gets his cock out, pushing the foreskin back to collect the precome that’s gathered there already with his tongue.

“Niall, I just,” Harry swirls his tongue around the head of Niall’s cock once, Niall’s hips bucking up, “the songs, about me, I think I’m the luckiest bloke.”

“Me too,” Niall’s breathing hard already, cock firming up in Harry’s grip, “you’re mine, Haz.”

“Even after…” Harry trails off, knows that he’s a knob for asking right now, when he’s got Niall’s cock in his mouth and he already knows what he’ll say.

“Harry,” Niall cups at Harry’s cheek, a soft smile playing over his face, “maybe more because of it. We’ve gotten through the worst, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry strokes Niall firmly, turns his head to press a kiss to the side of his cock. “We have.”

“So that’s the hardest bit,” Niall traces the side of Harry’s mouth, catching on the dimple there when Harry can’t help but grin, “knowing that we can do it, what else is there? Just us.”

“Just us,” Harry echoes, meeting Niall’s eyes before he tugs at his jeans to get them off fully, careful with the waistband of his pants over his cock. Niall’s already working the buttons on his shirt, Harry planting a firm hand on Niall’s stomach when he swallows him down again.

He takes his time, listening to the sounds Niall’s making and the rhythm of his hips as he slowly takes him apart, tries to make it last. It’s been slower, just like he told Zayn; they’ve been working their way up to shagging again, like. At first Harry had thought it was Niall looking at him different, that things would never be the same. But it’s not that, it’s better almost. Like it was before everything happened. Like he’s been dying for ages to shag Niall proper, without all the other nonsense hanging over them. A new start.

“Hazza,” Niall gasps, threading his hands through Harry’s hair and tugging, “‘m so close, stop.”

“Don’t wanna come this way?” Harry can hear how rough his voice is, and it makes his cock twitch, so hard he’s uncomfortable in his too tight trousers. 

“No, wanna,” Niall arches his back, reaching down and gripping at the base of his cock, exhaling shakily. “Want to fuck you.”

“Jesus.” Harry trails his lips up Niall’s chest, pausing to kiss him once before standing up, getting his kit off as fast as his shaking hands will allow. 

“Harry,” Niall laughs, his voice sounding wrecked, when Harry pulls at Niall’s hand until they’re in the kitchen, fumbling around in a drawer for the lube he knows he left there and handing it to Niall before bracing his hands on the counter. “We have a bedroom.”

“I know we do,” Harry laughs, it dying in his throat when Niall’s already running his lips over the curve of Harry’s shoulder blade. His stomach drops with anticipation when he can hear Niall uncap the bottle, his fingers catching on Harry’s arse a moment later. 

“Fuck,” Niall works in a second finger, his arm coming to wrap around Harry’s stomach like he’s holding them both upright. He curls his fingers, slow enough that Harry feels like he might be dying on it. He reaches down to fist his leaking cock, resting his forehead against his arm. 

“Please, Niall,” he whispers, working his hips back against Niall’s hand. “I’m good.”

Niall withdraws his fingers, Harry pliant in his arms when he spins him. He snogs Harry like that, lube slick fingers digging into Harry’s side as he licks deep into Harry’s mouth, the wet head of his cock sliding against Harry’s hip. 

“Harry,” he whispers, “c’mon.”

Harry laughs when they trip over each other on the way to the bedroom, laughs harder when Niall nearly bounces off the bed when he jumps on and tries to get to the drawer for a condom. It reminds Harry, almost, of the first time they’d gotten off together, laughing and trying to stay warm in the cold flat. 

“It’s nice,” Harry says, when Niall’s still laughing even though his eyes are dark, rolling on the condom and settling between Harry’s spread legs, “that it’s warm, this time.”

“What?” Niall presses just the head of his cock in, Harry gasping on it when he traces a drop of sweat that’s slipping down over Harry’s hip. “It’s so much warmer than that, Hazza.”

His face is open when he leans down, eyes meeting Harry’s when he settles the rest of the way inside. Harry knows, what he means. That even though it was just a few months ago it’s so different now, so much more. 

Niall thrusts in deep, leaning down to kiss Harry at the same time. It knocks the breath out of Harry’s mouth every time Niall’s hips move and he exhales into Niall with their lips barely touching. Niall’s got his hand firm on the underside of Harry’s thigh, adjusting it so the angle’s a bit different every time, Harry surprised when he comes without warning and Niall’s hand barely on his cock, Niall’s eyes flying open in surprise when he can feel Harry clenching down around him. 

“So tight,” Niall’s hips are working quick, “love you, Harry,” he’s slurring now, his cock twitching as he mouths against Harry’s chin when he comes. 

Harry runs his hands down Niall’s back afterward, the smooth slope of his skin sliding under his palms. He squeezes at Niall’s arse, lets his fingers dip down into the crease and barely nudging at Niall’s hole. Niall laughs then, sounding breathless. 

“Yeah, Haz,” Niall’s breath is still coming quick against Harry’s skin when he carefully pulls out, “just give me a mo. Gotta give a lad some recovery time.”

“Guess I can’t get enough,” Harry pushes at Niall’s hair where it’s fallen over his forehead, “not like before, but.”

“I know,” Niall’s smile is bright, his eyes dark blue, “better, yeah?”

**

When Harry wakes, Niall’s breathing evenly next to him with his arse pressed to Harry’s thighs. They’d fallen asleep not soon after Niall had cleaned them both up, whispering something about waking him up if he nodded off. 

Harry blinks to clear his head, focusing on the dark hair at Niall’s nape when he reaches his hand up, tracing at the curve of Niall’s pec. Niall shifts, his breathing going off when Harry does it again, pausing to pinch gently at Niall’s nipple. 

“Mornin’” Niall sounds amazing like this, sleep soft and warm; his voice a low rumble that Harry feels like is vibrating through his whole body. 

“Hey,” Harry whispers, into Niall’s neck. 

“Good way to wake up,” Niall pushes back, reaching behind to hold Harry’s hip when he rocks back into Harry’s half hard cock. 

“Yeah,” Harry drags his lips against Niall’s neck, “love you, Nialler.”

“You too, Hazza.” Niall’s voice sounds so good like this, in the dim quiet of the early morning, the two of them tangled up in the middle of the bed. Harry’s never felt so small and safe, takes the lube and condom from Niall when he hands it to him silently, pressing a quick kiss to Harry’s lips before settling back on his side.

Harry’s got him gasping on three of his fingers, the sounds Niall’s making unreal sounding. Harry can’t believe it’s been so long and it’s like he’s only hearing it for the first time. He goes slow, feels like there’s something holding him back, but he’s not sure what.

“Haz,” Niall sounds wrecked, “c’mon, c’mon.” 

Harry rolls on the condom, running his palm over himself when he hooks Niall’s leg back over his hip to get a better angle. He slides the head of his cock over Niall’s arse, teasing, leaving them both gasping on it.

“Haz,” Niall implores, rocking his hips back like he’s trying to take Harry’s cock in by himself, “I need you.”

Harry listens for a moment, pressing his lips against Niall’s shoulder; it’s silent except for both of them breathing, the thud of Niall’s heartbeat echoing in Harry’s ears. Something breaks open then, like his chest is cracking up with it. He pushes his cock in, moving slowly until they’re both babbling like they’ve gone mad. 

He rocks into Niall again and again, and it’s like everything he’s always wanted is really happening. 

**

“Anyway,” Liam’s laughing, “so then Harry says he’s good at juggling.”

“I am good at juggling,” Harry takes another handful of popcorn, wishing everyone would pay attention to the bloody film as the credits start rolling, already over. The one time they let him pick, and they all decide to talk over it. Harry kept his mouth shut during _Captain America_ ; it’s just common courtesy.

“He is,” Niall leans back so he’s more settled into Harry’s side, stealing some of Harry’s popcorn. “I’ve seen it.”

“So then he takes the wine bottles,” Liam continues, a gleam in his eye.

“Mate,” Zayn groans from his position half draped on top of Liam, “tell me you didn’t.”

“Oh, he very much did,” Liam starts laughing again, “and then, after, his face!”

“I thought,” Harry pinches at Niall so he’ll stop laughing, “that if they were equally full, it’d be like, balanced.”

“Harry.” Zayn pushes his palm into Liam’s chest like he’s getting him to shut up, “they were _full_?”

“Well,” Harry starts, before Liam cuts him off.

“Not for long,” Liam deadpans, spreading his arms out wide, “wine just, everywhere.”

“I’ll have you know,” Harry watches Liam get up to switch out for the next film, “that I got a very big tip for being so beloved.”

“And that’s why Harry will never work at the pub with us, Zayn,” Niall squirms when Harry pinches at his side again.

“Yeah,” Zayn nods, “probably for the best.”

They all lapse into silence when the film starts. Harry’s pretty sure that he’s memorized the dumb _Avengers_ by this point. Still. He waits until he knows it’s Liam’s favorite part before he speaks up, keeping his eyes on the screen of the telly.

“You know,” Harry fights to keep his voice even so he won’t laugh, “in the interest of full disclosure, Zayner and I made out once.”

“Wait, _what_?” Liam full on pauses the film. “What?”

“Hazza, I hate you more than anyone has ever hated a person,” Zayn’s voice is muffled, his face covered with his hands. 

“Who paid who?” Niall asks.

They all turn to look at him, Niall going red with it already. Harry bites at his lip, unsure if he wants to laugh or not.

“That was bloody uncalled for, lads, soz,” Niall shakes his head, “can we go back to hating Harry now?”

“Still there,” Zayn says, carefully. He’s got his hand on Liam’s neck. 

“I’m undecided, myself.” Liam laughs. “Okay, Hazza, from the beginning.”

“Or not at all,” Zayn mutters, Harry continuing anyway.


	7. if this isn't a kingdom then i don't know what is

“So Harry says…”

Zayn half-listens to Niall’s retelling of Harry’s last gig, focusing more on making mojitos for the cluster of girls sat at the corner. One of them’s making eyes at Niall, who’s either not noticed or is doing a great job of ignoring it. The latter, Zayn’s pretty sure, because they’re the only people in here besides Liam right now, and he’s too busy dicking around with the jukebox to bother anyone else.

“Nearly missed the whole thing because he was in the fucking toilet!” Niall’s laughing. “Idiot.”

“Sounds about right, though. For Hazza, at least.” 

It reminds Zayn a bit of Harry’s stories from back in the day, the ones about events he’d gone to with Caz, charming the pants off everyone and getting away with murder because of it. All Harry’s ever really needed to get by is a wink and his cheekiest smile. He’s doing so well again; Zayn’s so happy for him, a proud kind of pleased that’s a bit embarrassing, like Liam’s most mum-like qualities have finally rubbed off on him. 

He sets a glass of water on the bar. “Oi, you’re gonna be late.”

“I’m going,” Liam says distractedly, not turning around. He’s probably queueing a dozen horrible songs for after he’s gone. Zayn leaves the water for him before bringing the girls their drinks.

“What’s it today, a casual party?” Niall asks, quietly enough that Zayn figures Liam’s finally left the music alone. Hopefully he’s drinking the water, too. He’s not pissed, but it’s hot out and he’s got a ways to go, shouldn’t do it on a few pints and half an overcooked burger.

“No, just a meeting. Management stuff, to check-in, like, see how things are going. Boring, really.” Liam blows a raspberry, making Niall laugh. “Should get going though. See you at home?”

Zayn looks up from the till and nods. There’s a rumbling outside, like a massive group is getting ready to push through the doors, the rush just about to start. “Your turn to sort out dinner, don’t forget.”

“Course not,” Liam taps his forehead, Zayn going back to the girls’ tab. “I’m off.”

“Yup. Love you,” Zayn says. “Bye.”

He smiles at Liam, sliding the girl’s card back to her. The water he’d set out is half gone, so that’s good. 

“Right, yeah,” Liam says, “love you, bye!” before turning on his heel and rushing straight out the door. Zayn laughs quietly, shaking his head, because the fuck? He half expects there to be a cartoon cloud of dust in Liam’s wake, he’s left so fast.

It’s only belatedly that he realizes what’s happened, that this is the first time he’s actually told Liam he loved him. Right in the middle of the pub, all off-handed like. It makes him laugh even harder because fuck, he’s loved Liam for ages and he knows Liam’s known all along, too. But saying it out loud… Liam’s reaction makes sense now.

“What?” Niall looks around. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing!” Zayn tries to fend off Niall’s poking, body curved to protect his chest and belly, the both of them laughing. “Get off me!”

“Did Liam text you something dirty?” Niall gropes for Zayn’s phone. “Bressie said no sexting at work, Zayn.”

“He said that to _you_.” The pub’s starting to fill up, someone signalling Zayn for a round of Stellas. He nods as he tries to shake Niall off. 

“As a rule that extends to all employees.” Niall’s trying to worm his hand into Zayn’s pocket. Harry’s been a terrible influence on him.

“Which neither of you will be, for fuck’s sake,” Bressie says. 

“He started it.” Niall points at Zayn, whose jaw drops, offended. 

“You,” Bressie points to Niall, “go sort your shit out if you’re gonna sing today, and you, serve some fucking drinks.” 

Niall salutes before bounding away. Zayn reaches for fresh pint glasses, bursting out laughing again when “The Way You Make Me Feel” kicks on. It’s got Liam’s name written all over it.

**

“You beat?” Liam nudges his hand through Zayn’s hair, tugging on the ends. 

Zayn hums. He’s not tired, no worse than usual at least. Liam scratches along Zayn’s nape, sweaty even though he’d showered after work, getting rid of the grease and stale beer smell that seems to cling to him most days. This summer’s been more brutal than most.

“Here,” Liam holds out his hand for the stick from Zayn’s ice cream, putting the rubbish in the bin while Zayn turns off the telly. He’s not even sure what program had been on. Maybe he’s more tired than he’d realized.

Zayn washes up faster than Liam, flopping into bed with the fan pointed directly at him. Liam’ll move it when he comes in, but for now the cool air feels nice. Soothing. 

He listens to sounds of Liam getting ready for bed, only able to make out snatches with the fan on. It’s familiar anyway. Zayn likes the routine of it all, finds it comforting in a way he hadn’t expected. It’s the opposite of boring, this whole life they’ve settled into.

The door shuts and Zayn feels the bed dip, Liam’s hand on his shoulder. He turns his head a bit, expecting Liam’s goodnight kiss. There’s a knot of anticipation in his stomach, wondering if Liam’ll tack on a love you. Neither of them has brought it up since the pub this afternoon and Zayn’s appreciative of it, of the normalcy of the whole night, because he hadn’t wanted a big to do about it. He’s glad it’s out there, but it’s not new. It’s not news.

He cranes his neck, waiting for Liam’s kiss, only to feel Liam’s lips on the nape of his neck instead, and then again on his spine. 

“Alright?” Liam asks, grinning against the small of Zayn’s back, fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers. He’s barely touched Zayn at all and already his cock’s thickening up.

“Stupid question, innit?” Zayn laughs out, the anticipation coiling tighter as Liam works his pants down. Liam tsks as he rearranges Zayn’s limbs and the next thing he knows, Liam’s holding his cheeks apart, licking a wet stripe over his arsehole and then pulling back to blow a stream of air that knocks all the breath out of Zayn’s lungs.

Liam takes him apart slowly, methodically, opening him up with his tongue and his fingers until Zayn’s legs are trembling and he’s begging Liam for more. They haven’t done this in months, not since Liam fucked him and then ate him out after. The memory of it alone makes Zayn’s hips jerk, his cock sliding along the sheets. It’s not enough.

“Jesus Christ, Liam.” His whole body clenches when Liam’s chin moves over Zayn’s arse, his stubble catching deliberately, making Zayn feel like he’s a one giant firework about to go off. 

“What?” Liam’s voice is deep, sounds like he’s been choking on Zayn’s dick all night, rough and ragged from how turned on he is just from licking Zayn out. God, they should do this all the bloody time. Zayn doesn’t care that he probably wouldn’t survive it.

He flips over clumsily because he’s got to kiss Liam, hasn’t since they had a quick pre-dinner snog hours ago. There’s lube and condoms on the bed; Zayn’s been so far gone he hadn’t realized Liam grabbed them already. He clenches around nothing, feeling empty now that Liam’s mouth and fingers are gone. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, biting Liam’s lip as he fumbles for his cock, grinning when Liam’s breath catches, his hips jerking, cock leaking as Zayn strokes him. “Your cock. Want your cock, c’mon.”

He knows he’s babbling but he can’t seem to stop, his legs over Liam’s elbows, Liam thrusting deep with every stroke. His voice cracks when Liam fucks deep and stays there, grinding his hips in a slow circle. Liam doesn’t stop looking at him the whole time and for once it’s not unsettling, it’s like kindling for the fire under Zayn’s skin. 

“Don’t stop,” he begs, shifting his hips, watching the way Liam’s eyes drop down to where Zayn’s tugging on his cock. He groans at the sight, a broken sound that Zayn feels down to his bones.

“Liam, _please_ ,” Zayn swirls his thumb over the slick head of his cock as Liam holds himself still. It’s unbearable. “ _Liam_.”

He stops wanking himself, runs his thumb over Liam’s bottom lip, loving the way Liam’s eyes go dark as realizes. Zayn pushes his thumb into Liam’s mouth, biting his lip against a moan when Liam sucks, hard. 

“Fuck,” Zayn tilts his head back against the pillows. He’s not even come yet and he feels dead-legged, boneless.

“Yeah,” Liam starts nodding suddenly, dropping his head just enough to kiss Zayn as he starts up again, his hips going completely off-rhythm. Zayn’s hand flies to his cock, not even trying to match Liam, just desperate to come. 

“C’mon c’mon c’mon,” Liam urges him, their foreheads tipped together, everything going bright and sharp. Zayn comes first, barely, Liam groaning half a second later, almost like he’d been holding out for it.

“Jesus,” Zayn laughs after, still breathless, sliding his hand down Liam’s sweaty spine. 

“I’m sorry,” Liam mumbles, his mouth smushed against Zayn’s collarbone, “but I’m never moving. Ever.”

“Fine by me.” 

Liam does move, eventually, kissing Zayn as he pulls out before padding to the toilet to chuck the condom. With him gone, the air from the fan feels too cold but Zayn’s too spent to do anything about it. He rests his hand on his chest, feeling his heart slow until Liam comes back with a flannel, waiting for Zayn to clean up before taking it back to the sink. He never just pitches it on the floor, not like Zayn always wants to. He’s so good, grinning back when he notices Zayn smiling dopily at him from across the pillow. 

After a moment, Liam leans over, pressing their lips together quickly, the goodnight kiss Zayn had been expecting earlier. His heart lurches in his chest. He reaches for Liam, groping under the blankets until he finds Liam’s hand, the both of them nearly asleep.

“Love you,” Liam says quietly. Zayn cracks open one eye, watching Liam settle, his mouth going slack as his breathing evens out.

Zayn squeezes his hand, twisting so their fingers are intertwined. “Love you, too.”

He watches the way Liam’s mouth curves into a faint smile just before he falls asleep. He’s still like that when Zayn wakes up in the morning.

**

“Haz says to tell you you look brilliant and that they’re leaving now.” Liam leans against the door jamb, laughing as Zayn scowls at his reflection. His hair’s so long now he hasn’t got a clue how to manage it. Usually he just pulls it back, uses a headband to catch all the annoying shorter bits, but he doesn’t think that’ll fly tonight.

“Think I’m gonna cut it this week,” he says, trying to get one stubborn piece to stay out of his eyes. Every time he pushes it back it falls again.

“Harry’d be so upset.” Liam comes up behind him, hands on Zayn’s waist. He’s been ready to go for ages. He threads his hand through the back of Zayn’s hair, careful not to mess it. “I would too.”

Zayn doesn’t miss the way Liam’s eyes go a bit darker in the mirror. It sends a shiver through him, Liam’s fingers tightening like a promise. Zayn wonders what would happen if he shoved Liam up against the door right now. He’d probably be somewhat sad to miss his party, but Zayn could make it up to him in a lot of ways.

Somewhere in the flat, Liam’s phone starts going off. 

“Did you set an _alarm_?”

“Shut it,” Liam pinches his side, hurrying him out of the toilet, “I’m not the one who’s going to make us late.”

“No one’s going to be late,” Zayn gives his hair one last glance and thinks fuck it, it’s not like he’s trying to pull, “because you’ve set an alarm.”

“I’m only getting wiser with age.” Liam tries to wink, both his eyes closing in a way that makes Zayn bite down on his lip to keep from laughing. He holds out a shot glass, already full up with something. “Here, for the road.”

“Brilliant.” Zayn clinks his glass with Liam’s, licking his lips as he says, “Happy birthday, babe,” and tosses it back, the Fireball and Liam’s grin working in tandem to warm him from tip to toe.

**

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!” Harry shouts the second he spots Liam and Zayn, throwing himself forward, clinging to Liam’s side like an oversized koala. 

“Haz, we just got inside, let’s not get kicked out immediately,” Niall says, even though he’s laughing.

“They’d never kick Liam out, everyone loves him here,” Harry argues, Liam nodding as he tries to walk with Harry still stuck to his side.

“Used to work here. It’s been awhile, though, don’t recognize anyone yet.” 

Funky Buddha’s the same as Zayn remembers it, even though he’s not been in forever. Not since him and Louis came that time, their faces painted like a couple of twats. He laughs at the memory, dragging Niall to the bar to help carry their first round.

It’s loud and hot inside, the music thudding through the floor. Liam and Harry are already dancing, Haz’s arms windmilling like he’s the only person out there. They’re both sweaty messes when they come back to the small bit of wall he and Niall’ve claimed.

“Hi,” Zayn laughs when Liam reaches out, holding Zayn’s face in his palms, “having fun?”

Liam nods, saying something Zayn can’t decipher over the noise, and then Niall’s hitting their arms, Harry shouting something about how this is a public place and gross behavior is not allowed.

“We’re gross?” Zayn raises his eyebrows at Harry’s shirt, unbuttoned clear to his bellybutton, and his hand wedged in Niall’s back pocket.

Harry’s cut off by Niall shoving drinks into Zayn and Liam’s hands, giving a toast that Zayn only hears part of. He does his shot and then, when Harry is too slow, steals his. 

“It’s Liam’s birthday!” he says, like that absolves him. It at least gets Liam to cheer, shouting, “It is!” with his arms over his head.

Harry’s in too good a mood to argue, leaning forward and pressing a smacking kiss to Liam’s cheek instead. Zayn does the same, Niall completing the circuit with a kiss right on Liam’s forehead.

“Guys!” Liam’s voice has a sappy tinge to it as he tries to pull them all into a hug at once. He’s so happy that Zayn can’t protest when Liam herds them all towards the dance floor. It’s his bloody birthday. Zayn’s not much for dancing, but tonight he can be. 

It’s a good time, though, a right laugh watching Harry and Niall move in terrifying sync even though they’ve clearly got no idea what they’re doing. Zayn expects them to be drawing stares, but when he looks around, no one’s paying them any mind. He wonders if Louis still comes here, if he and El are somewhere in this sea of bodies. It’d be alright if they were. He’d smile at them and say hi and it would be alright.

“Zayn!” He’s startled from his thoughts when Harry smacks his arm, gesturing wildly at absolutely nothing. He looks to Liam for help, but he’s still in the loo and Niall’s just as confused. Harry throws his arm out again and then Zayn recognizes the song that’s playing and bursts out laughing.

“What the fuck?” Niall takes a step back, awed, as Harry and Zayn start into a loose-limbed version of the dance they made up late one night, back when it was just the two of them in the flat, trying to burn off enough excess energy from work that they’d be able to sleep. Liam comes back looking equally wowed. “Mate, did you know about this?”

Liam shakes his head, his eyes so crinkled with his smile that they’re nearly closed. “Is this my present? Don’t get me anything else! I love it!” he shouts, him and Niall holding each other’s arms like they need to touch something to reassure themselves it isn’t a dream.

Zayn gives up first, his lungs burning too much to go on, and ends up with an armful of Harry for it. He’s distantly aware of Niall and Liam applauding. Zayn laughs, rocking side to side with the force of Harry’s hug, feeling giddy.

“You!” Harry yells and then stops, just staring at Zayn for a moment. His eyes are bright and Zayn can’t tell if it’s just the lighting or if Harry is a bit teary. With him it could go either way. He is one of Zayn’s most favorite people in the whole world. 

Zayn pokes his fingertip into Harry’s dimple, just to make him smile even wider. The song changes and Harry pulls a face before dancing away, shimmying his shoulders at Niall in a way that makes Liam laugh, at least. Niall’s face goes completely unreadable. 

Liam’s already moving to the beat when he comes up behind Zayn, settling his hands on Zayn’s waist and forcing him to dance along. Zayn tips his head against Liam’s shoulder, leaning back, hyper aware of the way Liam’s grinding against him. It’s dizzying, the lights and the music and the alcohol in his veins making everything seem louder, brighter, _more_.

Zayn’s pissed, he knows, can tell by how rubbery his limbs feel and by how badly he wants to throw Liam over his shoulder and get out of here. He settles for turning around, looping his arms around Liam’s neck as he goes in for a quick snog. 

Maybe Liam would want to find a dark corner, something to take the edge off. They’ve been here hours already, Liam’s mouth stained red and sickly-sweet from some vile alcopop Niall’d bought him as a joke. It’s driving Zayn mad. He fits his thigh between Liam’s, moving his hips to the beat and testing the waters. He can feel a groan rumble through Liam’s chest before he fixes his hold on Zayn’s hips, pulling him even closer.

“What if,” Liam talks right into Zayn’s ear, “we got out of here?”

“Yeah?” Zayn pulls back to check if Liam’s serious, doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he’s not. Liam nods, thank fuck, and goes easily when Zayn drags him toward the bar, where Harry and Niall are making out as they wait for fresh drinks. “We’re leaving.”

“Gotta let Loki out,” Liam says.

Harry’s eyes narrow as he looks between them. “I’m insulted you’re lying to my face like this,” he says. 

“Have a good night, Haz,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes. 

“Happy birthday, Payno!” Niall waves as they go.

“Seriously, I am insulted! No more free rides, you two,” Harry yells after them. “Literally!”

They’re both laughing as they spill out on the street, Zayn looking both ways, trying to remember where the bus picks up. Liam gropes his arse before plastering himself along Zayn’s back. Fuck it’s going to be a long ride home.

“Get a taxi,” Liam says, his breath hot on Zayn’s neck. “Just… fuck it, Zayn, get a taxi. It’s my birthday.”

Zayn closes his eyes when Liam’s lips close around his earring, feeling like he might pitch face-first onto the concrete. “Yeah. Fuck. Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” Liam’s voice gets rough as they climb into the back seat. Zayn presses his lips together, slides his hand slowly up Liam’s leg, hoping it drives Liam half as crazy as he is right now.

Zayn nods, licking his lips. This heady feeling, this whole night, it’s all so much. He wants to bottle it up, save it for some future day. “It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

He watches the way Liam swallows.

**

Zayn wakes up early, his head pounding, jaw aching. Looking over, squinting in the too-bright light, he can see Liam’s got a truly impressive bruise forming on his hip.

He can’t figure out why he’s awake before noon until Liam’s phone chimes loudly from the nightstand, a whole string of terrible noises. Zayn punches in the passcode so he can see whatever Harry’s on about at this god awful hour.

He’s sent a string of texts and, lastly, a selfie from last night that Zayn doesn’t remember taking, all of them smiling, their faces flushed and crowded in close.

“Whatsit?” Liam flings his arm out blindly, patting Zayn’s head. 

“Haz.” Zayn’s voice is shot. He needs to sleep for another twelve hours. “It’s fine, go back to sleep.”

Liam makes a grumpy noise, tucking his face into Zayn’s ribs, his breathing evening out like he’d never stirred at all.

 _K 3 works_ he sends in response to Harry’s late brunch offer. He doesn’t think it counts as brunch if it’s that late in the day, but Zayn figures they’re all going to want eggs later. Loads of eggs. Much, much later. 

He changes Liam’s lockscreen to the selfie before switching the phone to silent and putting it on the nightstand. He shuffles down the mattress so he can curl around Liam properly. He lets Liam’s heartbeat lull him back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the mix, [over here](http://8tracks.com/kataclysmics/but-monsters-are-always-hungry-darling); make sure to tell [Kat](http://kataclysmics.tumblr.com) that you love it! And you can come say hi to us on tumblr: [irishmizzy](http://irishmizzy.tumblr.com) and [miss_bennie](http://miss-bennie.tumblr.com). The fic post is [right over here](http://irishmizzy.tumblr.com/post/111959330490/but-monsters-are-always-hungry-darling).


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